The Beautiful Stratagem
by Ehwaz-Ansuz-Kano
Summary: Cesare Borgia deposed tyrants, using murder and cruelty to unify the Romagna. Was Pope Alexander his puppet? Was Lucrezia his lover and sister? Did the gossip mongers speak truth? This is the story of a man and woman; who are neither saints nor devils.
1. Chapter 1

Warning for incest. I have no problem with consensual incest between two adults, I do however not tolerate pedophile as children are too young to consent and no I don't condone bestially or necrophilia because I condone incest. Incest to me is kind of like being homosexual; some people for lack of a better word get 'squeamish' at the thought of two lesbians having sex, but don't think those relationships are immoral. This is my stance on incest. I would never enter into such a relationship with any of my relatives as I have a 'that's disgusting' response since I don't view any of them romantically, but I wouldn't condemn other people for doing so. Distant cousins could marry not too long ago just so everyone is aware and no one was disgusted by it.

This depiction of the Borgias stems from my own imagination, history, and a little from Showtime. I modeled my Giovanni Sforza after Showtime's portrayal (historically there is no basis for the Showtime Giovanni) who plays a minor part in the overall story. I've tried to make everyone authentic to my own imagining, which may be blurred by all the different depictions I've read and watched of them. I've seen Los Borgia (2006 Spanish movie about the Borgias), the Canal+ The Borgias, Showtime's the Borgias, and the BBC Borgias. The BBC is, if you are wondering, the most historically accurate. The French takes too many liberties in my opinion with Cesare's 'rape and infant son' scenes and Showtime's Ursula and Paolo (known to history as Pedro, Alexander's chamberlain, not Giovanni's groom) grinds me a little. Ursula is a major disappointed fabrication, I am all game for Cesare having relationships, but Ursula doesn't suit him in my opinion. As for Paolo his historical inaccuracy upsets me a lot.

I've taken some liberties in my portrayal as most writers and producers do. There is no proof for incest (in all honesty it probably didn't occur) and no basis for a brutish Giovanni. Most of the letters in later chapters are accurate with one or two of them added onto to advance the plot. Juan is depicted accurately in regards to his misbehavior in Spain and most historical events, like Cesare's later depicted actions in Sinigaglia, for which this story is named, is true as far as Raphael Sabatini goes. Some sources include the above mentioned author of "Life of Cesare Borgia" and Ferdinand Gregorovius' "Lucrezia Borgia according to the Original Documents and Correspondence of Her Day."

Thank you for reading and please review.

* * *

><p>"This is no Chronicle of Saints. Nor yet is it a History of Devils. It is a record of certain very human, strenuous men in a very human, strenuous age; a lustful, flamboyant age; an age red with blood and pale with passion at white-heat; an age of steel and velvet, of vivid color, dazzling light and impenetrable shadow; an age of swift movement, pitiless violence and high endeavor, of sharp antitheses and amazing contrasts.<p>

To judge it from the standpoint of this calm, deliberate, and correct century-as we conceive our own to be-is for sedate middle-age to judge from its own standpoint the reckless, hot, passionate, lustful humors of youth, of youth that errs grievously and achieves greatly.

So to judge that epoch collectively is manifestly wrong, a hopeless procedure if it be our aim to understand it and to be in sympathy with it, as it becomes broad-minded age to be tolerantly in sympathy with the youth whose follies it perceives. Life is an ephemeral business, and we waste too much of it in judging where it would beseem us better to accept, that we ourselves may come to be accepted by such future ages as may pursue the study of us.

But if it be wrong to judge a past epoch collectively by the standards of our own time, how much more is it not wrong to single out individuals for judgment by those same standards, after detaching them for the purpose from the environment in which they had their being? How false must be the conception of them thus obtained!" – Raphael Sabatini, Preface to the Life of Cesare Borgia.

Lucrezia laughed, flinging her cards on the table and glaring. "You are too good at this, Cesare."

"You are only bad at it. Let's play another round. Practice makes perfect."

"No," her churlish temper was irking him. He reminded himself she was only twelve and as yet was still a child.

"Prepare yourselves," Adriana De Mila, Lucrezia's warden, devout Catholic, and an Orsini by marriage, was a Borgia by birth. "His Beatitude is here."

"We are prepared to receive His Holiness," he set his hand down and relaxed in his chair. Lucrezia bridled as Adriana fussed with her hair and examined her complexion.

Rodrigo de Borja, known as Borgia in Italian, was a Spaniard. He had been born in Jativa, near Valencia (Cesare had been granted Valencia as his archbishopric) and his rise in the Church had been because of a famous uncle named Alfonso who became Pope Callistus III. Rodrigo, having studied canon law in Bologna, was made a cardinal a year later. Two years later he became Vice-Chancellor of the Church and Bishop of Valencia. Rodrigo played his cards right and when Callistus died he was not viewed unfavorably by the following Popes. He even granted King Ferdinand of Aragon his dispensation to marry Isabella of Castile. Rodrigo had served five Popes; Callistus III, Pius II, Paul II, Sixtus IV, and Innocent VIII. With the recent death of Innocent he'd ascended the Papacy through simony to become Alexander the VI in 1492.

Rodrigo smiled when he saw them and embraced Lucrezia. Cesare remained seated, knowing his father wasn't going to bestow any sentimental gesture upon him. Alexander wasn't here to talk to him. He'd arrived from the University of Pisa a few days ago; he doubted the Pope had even known he'd arrived. He was right. When Rodrigo noticed him at the table his surprise was evident.

"Cesare," he said, a smile coming to his pudgy face.

"Your Holiness."

"How are you studies?"

"They go as I've written." Rodrigo may not have seen his children often, Juan was in Spain, Lucrezia stayed at the Orsini Palace, and Cesare had until recently studied far from Rome, but he wrote letters continually.

"That is excellent. Is Pisa to your liking?" He'd studied cannon law at Perugia and recently had switched to Pisa.

"The education is acceptable for a cardinal."

"Good. Now, little one," he turned to Lucrezia and bid her sit as he took the vacated seat to Cesare's left. Lucrezia smiled, folding her hands happily, her gaze adoring the father she saw so rarely. "I am aware that you've been betrothal twice. The Lord of Val D'Ayora was a respectable man of Valencia."

"He was." Her first betrothal was in 1491 to Joan de Centelles. Lucrezia had only met him once because the marriage contract had been voided two months later for a more favorable alliance.

"Don Gaspare was more to your liking," Rodrigo stated, knowing Gaspare's looks had been more pleasing. Gaspare Aversa was count of Procida and Lucrezia's current betrothed. Cesare had found no fault at the first impression Gaspare had made; he was amiable and the kind of man that might take care with a young girl like Lucrezia.

"He is handsome, though not as charming as Cesare or as dashing as Juan." Rodrigo smiled humorously. Lucrezia was always complimenting Cesare, nearly as much as Cesare complimented her. It amused him to see that his children, as unlike as night and day in appearance and person, get along so well. He had not gotten along that well with his own brother Pedro Luis.

"I am annulling this contract as well, Lucrezia," he raised a hand when she was about to protest. "I am the Vicar of Christ and as such a much better match than the lowly Count of Procida may be engineered."

"Is this man as handsome as Gaspare?" Lucrezia, ever the lover of beauty, cared little at that age for the man's mind.

"I am told he is not hideous," Rodrigo dismissed the topic. He knew the man to be old, which would be unappealing to his young daughter, and far removed from the handsome looks of her brothers. "His appearance is of no coincidence to this alliance. We need Milan to protect us from the French. King Charles is planning to claim Naples and we are in a precarious position. We could oblige him and grant him the title or we can refuse and ally with Naples and those who oppose his ambition. I've given it much thought and conclude that our best option is Naples. To that end you must marry to secure our future."

"Ludovico, the Moor, rules in Milan," Cesare cut in. "Which Sforza are you marrying Lucrezia too?"

"Giovanni Sforza, Lord of Pesaro and Count of Catignola. You would be a countess."

"I'd be a countess married to Gaspare too," she crossed her arms, her features brooding. Rodrigo had made no assurances about Giovanni's looks which meant he was either plain if she was lucky or he was ugly if she was not.

"Giovanni is twenty seven I believe and known to be of an ill-suited temperament," Cesare spat. "You'd give innocent Lucrezia to that man?"

"Twenty-seven," she cried, "That is older than anyone I know!"

"I'll remind you I am older, silly girl, and Adriana too."

"But you are both ugly."

"That is enough," Rodrigo didn't like being insulted, much less by another Borgia. "I have made my decision and you will heed it. Once you are thirteen the wedding will be announced and shortly commenced. The marriage contract will give you some freedom. You are too young yet to consummate and will be given a year to mature. After that you will be Giovanni's wife in more than name. I will have no quarrel. We need this alliance, you have no idea―with your frivolous life and childlike seclusion―how much we do."

Rodrigo, noting that Lucrezia was too young to realize the conversation was over and was going to complain further, left.

"You should not rebuke His Holiness," he said at length, seeing her seething.

"He is making me marry an old man!"

"He is doing this for the good of the family. You do not know the political ramifications. If he doesn't marry you to Giovanni Sforza and secure an alliance with Milan against King Charles Sforza will not be a concern. Father could be deposed if Giuliano della Rovere has his way."

"Are you serious, brother?"

"Entirely."

"I…" Her discomfort at her ignorance was evident.

"You are a woman, Crezia, it is not expected of you to know the political situation."

"I'm sorry I'm unaware. Adriana and Giulia only ever speak of jewels or gowns or the next feast."

"Do not be put out," He reached over and linked their fingers, watching her smile. He was seldom touchy with anyone. She was a prefect beam of sunlight when she was happy.

"I hope Giovanni is like you, brother, since I can't marry you." He laughed, torn between desperate despair and overwhelming joy. His delight won out this time as he squeezed her hand tightly; later at night his despair would crush the memory in the garden of her bright smile and warm hand.

* * *

><p>Cesare scowled as he paced the Sala dei Santi, glancing at the fresco adorned walls with annoyance, barely noticing the intricate work of the artist Pinturicchio. Michelotto watched anxiously, anything that upset his master made him nervous. Few things could bother Cesare, much less manifest themselves outwardly.<p>

"Should we not attend the wedding?" He asked, noting how his hand lowered to his hilt.

"Bah, attend the wedding of a…a…I've not a proper word for that Giovanni Sforza!" He came close to his face, "Do you want to attend it, Michelotto? Go ahead, I won't stop you."

"My loyalty lies with you, Eminence," he declared, not the least concerned with Cesare's threatening demeanor.

"So you say, but all assassins are the same. Your kind can't be trusted." Cesare ran a hand over his chin, "I wasn't aware my own blood wasn't to be trusted either."

"I do not follow you, Eminence. Why is the wedding not to your liking?" Michelotto was more perceptive than many gave him credit for; Cesare wasn't upset because a cherished sister was marrying.

"You know what I mean." Cesare knew Michelotto well enough to know he spectated, if not knew, the reason for his frustration.

"I do not think you have reason to worry. She may be marrying, but you know the contract stipulates no consummation. Even if Sforza wanted to be ungallant he couldn't." Michelotto shrugged when Cesare glared at him. "I doubt furthermore that Sforza will care to spend time with his wife when he can't be intimate with. What allure does a young girl like her have?"

He smiled at his own words, amused at how Cesare colored indignantly. There were few things that embarrassed his master; Lucrezia and even the remotest hint of indecency was one of them. Talk of lewd courtesans, fornication, and lechery didn't faze the man, but even mention that Lucrezia was a woman and he grew as red as the rubies he liked to wear. He didn't doubt it was mostly from sexual frustration, but he loved hinting at it.

"She is a woman," Cesare said stiffly, face still scarlet. "She may be young in mind, but her body is mature enough to desire men. Do you think she will desire Giovanni?"

"Have you seen the man?" Cesare laughed at his jest, a pleased expression returning his face to normal coloration at the thought that Lucrezia was likely to be repulsed by Giovanni.

* * *

><p>Lucrezia lay, fanning herself with her hand. Why was Rome so hot tonight? She was grateful for the darkness of her room as she rolled onto her back on her bed.<p>

Giovanni had been utterly uninspiring this evening. He had come to speak some respectable words to her; his manner like that of a jumpy rabbit the entire five minutes. She was grateful he hadn't stayed long. Cesare had visited after and she had given her cardinal brother a good berating for not attending her wedding. He had seemed upset when he'd gone and she'd been satisfied with her rebuke. She may have loved Cesare, but she was still angry over his absence. She'd wanted to see him in splendid wedding attire like Juan and Jofre and then later at the feast she'd constantly searched for a glimpse of him until she'd realized he wasn't coming.

He doesn't love me anymore, she thought angrily, pressing a hand to her forehead to check for fever. She felt cold, but her body was burning and a strange churning in her gut made her feel uncomfortable.

She was married now. She frowned at the ceiling of her apartment. She thought her life should have changed for the better. Her father had given her the palace of Santa Maria, which she loved, and Adriana was a lady-in-waiting rather than a caretaker, though she still obstinately spoke to her like a child. Her everyday duties consisted of meeting important ambassadors for her father and receiving gifts. Just the other day Alfonso of Ferrara, as a gift from his father the Duke, had given her a beautiful silver jug and basin. The most annoying change in her marriage life was her husband's occasional visits.

Her neck was dripping with sweat. She wondered what Rodrigo was doing at this hour and then recalled Giulia at the feast and recoiled. She shuddered at the thought of a pretty slender Giulia sleeping beside flabby Rodrigo. She hoped Giovanni never graced her bed.

She turned her thought to more delightful ones. She bet Cesare was just arriving back to his chamber after a long night of secret activities. At her naive age she had no idea about Cesare's ways and Michelotto's assistance in them, only that he often went out late from what Giulia said. She imagined him, tall and slender as a dancer, but with the strength of a bull. She let her mind wonder to Gaspare, tall and broad shouldered and plain faced. He had kissed her hand on her only visit from him. She recalled that moment with longing, feeling a stirring in her nether regions she didn't quite understand.

Giulia had told her shortly before her marriage to Giovanni, "Lucrezia, you will be a woman soon and you will feel sensations you do not understand. Let them whisk you away and you will come to find them utterly pleasing. Adriana will tell you otherwise because she is a pious Catholic, but I tell you the best pleasure is had from defying tradition."

She thought on what Giulia had said now with some sense of yearning to understand the world of adults. All she understood was that her body ached strangely. She would ask Giulia for guidance tomorrow.

When she awoke in the morning she burst into hysteria upon seeing the blood lining her sheets and sent a maid to fetch Giulia and Adriana.

"Calm down," Adriana lifted her up from the bed where she sat weeping and sternly led her to her wardrobe. "We will get a bath and see to this. Giulia, inform the servants to draw a bath. This is a natural occurrence, child, I promise you are not dying."

"But blood came out, Adriana, don't people die from that?"

"Not a woman. It comes once a month. It is God's way of telling you that you must outgrow childish things and eventually become a mother yourself."

"Really?"

"Yes, now off with that pout and let us get you cleaned up."

* * *

><p>"Cesare!" He turned with a start and smiled.<p>

"You sneak up on me like a nymph, woman, what's the matter?"

"I want to show you something, your Eminence."

"Don't call me that and I'll let you show me whatever it is. For God's sake Lucrezia stop this energetic tapping. Your feet should only lift if you are walking." She was bouncing anxiously on her heels, a brazen smile on her angelic face.

She led him to his apartments, skipping ahead of him like some child. He rolled his eyes and followed obediently, knowing it was nearly impossible not to obey her wicked charms.

"I was very worried," Lucrezia admitted as he crossed his arms. "Adriana said it wasn't a bad thing so I'm not concerned anymore."

"What are you talking about?"

She smiled and lifted her skirts to show him the bundle of wool used to stop her bleeding. He stared in horror for a long moment as Lucrezia laughed and lowered her skirt.

"I'm a woman now, Cesare." He grabbed her arm and dragged her roughly out of the room, his face red with embarrassment.

"Giulia!" He burst into the Pope's quarters, throwing Lucrezia against the bed. Giulia, busy with a servant, turned to them with bewilderment.

"What is wrong with you?"

"Lucrezia…is immodest," he said softly.

"What was wrong with what I did?" Lucrezia demanded, sitting up from where he'd thrown her.

"Everything," he spat back.

"What did she do?"

"She can tell you. Just correct her behavior before she shows someone who isn't as tolerable." He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

"I didn't think it was that bad," Lucrezia slumped her shoulders.

"What did you do?"

"I showed him my rag."

Giulia pressed a hand to her mouth, but her laugher came out anyway. "Oh, Lucrezia, you never fail to amuse me."

"Giulia," Lucrezia asked nervously. Giulia was hardly much older than her in years, but she was mature in a way that frightened and adored Lucrezia to her. Giulia had the added bonus of being more understanding than Adriana.

"Yes?"

"Do you remember that conversation the week before my marriage to Giovanni? When you said I'd be experiencing sensations I wouldn't understand?"

"I recall something of the sort. Lucrezia, you are about to embark on a grand journey."

"Where will I be going?"

"Don't be coy, it doesn't suit you. I mean you will experience pleasure beyond your silly comprehension."

"Pleasure?"

"What is the greatest pleasure you've experienced thus far?"

She remembered Vannozza's arms around her as a child, that was warm and nice, but not the thing of thing she figured Giulia was fishing for. She remembered Father's kiss upon her forehead, Juan's grudging embrace as he left for Spain, and Jofre weeping in her arms when they left their mother's house for good. Those were all familial connections. Not quite what was Giulia was speaking of, she thought with a pout.

She thought of Gaspare's kiss and the way Cesare would twine their fingers together when it was just the two of them. Cesare's warm, lingering lips on her cheek as he left for Perugia.

"There is color in your cheeks. You are thinking of it now?"

"I was thinking of Gaspare's kiss when I first met him." She was wishing it hadn't been Gaspare's lips.

"Ah," Giulia was smiling secretively. "Handsome boys often inspire fluttering hearts. Now when it is late and you are alone in bed think of his kiss."

"I have for the last few nights."

"Now that your bleeding has past you can explore your body."

"What do you mean?"

Giulia pointed to a woman upon the wall. "The one with her hand between her thighs, Lucrezia, touch yourself gently there and you will know what I speak of. Think on handsome Gaspare while you please the area and you'll be fine."

* * *

><p>She lay with her chemise pulled up, recalling Gaspare's frank eyes as she let her fingers caress her thigh. The sensation of fingers there was new; she rarely touched any part of her body but her face or hair. She wondered if Cesare was holed up in his apartments with a woman. She'd heard gossip from servants that he kept courtesans. No one thought it was unnatural. Young boys took pleasure whenever offered; the fact that he was a cardinal made no difference. She doubted she had never met a truly celibate cardinal, she thought with amusement now.<p>

Her fingers paused uncertainly at the soft flesh between her legs before parting the flesh and searching the crevice. Before Giulia's words and these odd sensations of yearning she had never bothered with the place before. She let out a grasp of delight at the odd feelings that followed.

She let her mind wonder back to Gaspare, thinking his callous fingers would feel better than her own tentative probing. She thought of Cesare's slender white hands and the strength she felt in them each time she held his hand. Her excitement rose and she felt the heat in her body intensify.

She glanced at the ceiling, contemplating the figures of the men above her head. She wondered what lay between men's legs; men must find some pleasure too because they often sought women for coupling. She racked her brain to remember her lessons. Her studies had hinted at the pleasure, she thought now with sudden astonishment. She had been too naive to realize this before. There was a reason men mounted women at marriage ceremonies, reason men sought courtesans, why the lewd jokes were so plentiful at her wedding ceremony, and why everyone spoke of consummation with half concealed laugher. She had just dismissed all the talk and let it completely go over her head. She now wondered on it all and tomorrow she would find out.

* * *

><p>"Cesare?"<p>

"Yes?"

"What is entailed in the consummation of a marriage?"

"Lucrezia," his face reddened. This was a sight she couldn't ever recall seeing before. Giulia dropped her needle work into her lap, a laugh escaping before she stifled it.

"I am glad Adriana is not here," Giulia commented.

"I do not desire to talk to you of this," Cesare was embarrassed beyond reason, "and why of all people are you asking me?"

"You never lie to me."

"This is women's talk," he looked pleadingly at Giulia.

"I find it amusing," she answered his plea, "that you should inform our dear little Lucrezia about the details."

"This is not funny," he glanced at his hands. Lucrezia followed his gaze to his gloved fingers and wished he'd not worn them. She shuddered at her ill-timed thoughts. It made sense to her now why men constantly made jests about the subject; minds just strayed in that direction without much prodding.

"Please tell me, Cesare."

"Ask your husband."

"That would be amusing to see. Giovanni is already jumpy around women, can you imagine his discomfort?" Cesare cracked a small smile at Giulia's words.

"I think he is like that naturally," she piped in, not liking the way the conversation was turning out. "Cesare, I trust you to tell me. Please?"

"This is not appropriate conversation for siblings. Ask His Holiness or better yet Giulia and spare us all the grief."

"Giulia told me yesterday to please myself and I did. Now I want to know how men please women and you will tell me. Does it have to do with the reason men have codpieces?" Cesare's face had never been redder as he stood and walked out the door without a word.

"You've embarrassed him to death, dear; we'll soon find he's fallen on his sword."

"Is the subject so touchy?"

"With one's brother, yes."

"Will you tell me, Giulia?"

"Fine. I had every intention of doing so. I merely wanted to watch him squirm before I did."

* * *

><p>Lucrezia frowned in the darkness of her apartment. Was it appropriate, she wondered dismally, to think of one's brother while pleasing one's self? Giulia had explained in plentiful detail the aspects of consummation, but she had been too timid to ask this nagging question. Deciding there was no one she could ask but a priest she resolved to seek the confessional booth tomorrow. Tonight she would imagine Cesare was above her as she teased her flesh.<p>

* * *

><p>"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," she mumbled as she crossed herself, trying to discern the face on the other side of the lattice. "It has been four weeks since I confessed."<p>

"Tell me of your sins, my child," the gruff voice wasn't recognizable.

"I have twice disrespected my father, thrice disobeyed my elder, and once lied about breaking a vase. Worst of all I have lusted after…"

The priest leaned against the lattice as if he couldn't hear her words and waited patiently.

"I have lusted after my brother and have pleased myself while thinking of him."

"That is a grave sin, my child," he stated, hand waving for her to continue with her patience.

"O my God, I am heartily sorry, for having offended you, and I detest all my sins, because of your just punishment, but most of all because they offend you, my God, who are all good and deserving of my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of your grace, to sin no more and to avoid the near occasions of sin."

"Your penitence will be four Our Fathers and three Hail Mary's. Refrain from lusting after your kin; that is a great sin before God."

"God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son, has reconciled the world to himself, and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins. Through the ministry of the Church, may God grant you pardon and peace. And I absolve you of your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen."

She left the confessional, feeling only a little better. She resolved never to think of Cesare intimately again. She would think of Gaspare next time.


	2. Chapter 2

Giuliano della Rovere and Vannozza did have a relationship prior to Rodrigo and her, however Cesare's paternity issue is added for plot. Rodrigo did however wonder about Jofre's parentage because she was sleeping with her husband at the time.

* * *

><p>Cesare smiled beside the Pope as he greeted Alessandro Farnese, Giulia's brother. They had visited Orvieto to indulge Giulia's brother. Orvieto had fallen, he noted sourly, into decay. It resembled very little the prosperous centre it had been only a hundred years ago. The thought that Thomas Aquinas who was a famous Catholic priest, philosopher, and theologian had taught at the university here was astonishing.<p>

"This place is in ruin," Alexander declared.

"Indeed, Your Holiness," Alessandro admitted openly. "It is in disrepair."

"We must fix that. Cesare," he moved towards his father, curious as to what purpose Alexander had in mind for Orvieto. "I wish to see Orvieto brought back to great height." His shrewd eyes amused Cesare because he knew the Pope was thinking of something terrible for his enemies and delectable for them. "We should restore this outpost. Who knows when we might have use for it? I command you to help Alessandro here to restore this outpost. Do you accept?"

"It would be folly not to, Your Holiness," he answered, smiling back.

* * *

><p>"This reminds me of our time in Pisa," Alessandro said as Cesare sat pouring over a map.<p>

"More to my liking then theology, friend," he wondered at how costly the refortifications would be as Alessandro lounged nearby.

"Do you intend to do it all? Want help?"

"You've no mind for it."

"I never said that. You insisted on it all yourself."

"I like military work."

"Apparently. If this goes through will His Holiness give in to Giulia's requests?"

"What requests?"

"That I be made a cardinal in the next Consistory?"

He paused to meet Alessandro's frank dark eyes. "I can make no absolute assurances for His Holiness, but in all likelihood he will if we do well with Orvieto."

"You are like your father," he leaned with both arms on the table and lifted his head thoughtfully when Alessandro spoke. "The way you spoke just now was very much the way he does. He offers things without certainty."

"He wishes to please others without getting hopes too high," he answered, delighted that Alessandro saw Rodrigo in him when he didn't.

"Will he make you a cardinal too? Is that why you strive so hard for Orvieto?"

"Let us put our prays into hoping for your red hat. I would prefer a secular career."

"A condottiero, Cesare? I would have thought you more ambitious than a simple mercenary captain."

"I am ambitious. I would hire condottiero, not be one."

"Ah, you want to lord over your troops." He laughed, his smile making his grave face pleasant. "I say that is a fine profession, being a solider and commanding, but I'd prefer being the highest authority on this green earth over a prince among many."

"I don't aim to be Pope."

"I would and why not? The Pope is more powerful than a king, Cesare."

"I don't agree. Let's not continue this. I have plans to see to fruition." When Orvieto was repaired and fortified Alexander showed his gratefulness by making them both cardinals, to the joy of one and the dismay of the other. The overjoyed citizens of Orvieto invested him with the governship of the town that summer, showing their own gratitude.

* * *

><p>Lucrezia wept and buried her head into Giulia's shoulder. The time had gone by so much faster than she had expected. Giovanni was standing near the entrance next to Cesare, impatience all over his somber face.<p>

"I will miss Rome," she sobbed, rubbing her eyes on her sleeve.

"Rome will miss you," Giulia admitted. "You will have Adriana and me for company in Pesaro."

"It will not be the same," she bemoaned, shaking Adriana's hand off her shoulder and running to where the men stood. She leapt, uncaring of criticism, into Cesare's arms. He sighed, holding her tightly as she wept openly.

"Come now, sister, you are a countess, you must be strong and it is as Giulia has informed you. You will have friends and Giovanni." He pulled her off, fighting her when she tried desperately to cling to his doublet. She knew the position she would be leaving her father in when she left was not a good one. King Charles was advancing on Rome, threatening to depose the Pope for his refusal to hand over Naples. Rodrigo's life was in danger and that of every Borgia, even strong Cesare.

"This is for your safety, dearest," the soft affection was evident in his endearment. "Take care of yourself in Pesaro and write me." She nodded as he touched the crown of her head, showing his strained smile as he did. She knew that look from all the time she had seen him converse with Juan. He wasn't happy she was leaving, but they both knew she must.

"I'll be back before you know it, Cesare," she embraced him one last time and followed Giovanni to the awaiting horses.

"This is Pesaro?" The place was as unattractive as Giovanni. She had heard Pesaro was a lackluster stone compared to the glittered jewel that was Rome and people had unfortunately been honest. She missed the Eternal City already.

"Pesaro is a good city," Giovanni declared, pride swelling from every inch of his insufferable being. She wondered at the transformation her husband had undergone since they'd left. Pesaro lightened his mood and made his jittery personality disappear.

"Pesaro will be a second home to me I'm sure."

"You will like it, Countess." She had to admit the title pleased her every time she heard it. There was one meager advantage to this marriage, which she'd trade a thousand times over to be home.

The court wasn't as horrifying as she had expected, but it could not compare to Rome's. Giovanni showed some redeeming qualities in Pesaro; expressing great interest in showing her the lands, monasteries, and the hunting grounds. She found him as uninspiring as ever and when he graced her bed that night she was surprised to find him dull rather than exciting. She had expected much from her husband given his age and experience in such matters. She had heard reports about him visiting courtesans regularly and had assumed he knew what he was doing. She supposed a man who paid for sexual gratification wasn't required to be good between the sheets.

She was watching the young groomer handle her horse when Giovanni came up behind her. His look startled her. He said nothing to her that day, but at night he was rough and left bruises. She found the groomer had been killed, supposedly from falling off a horse. No one inquired into the matter.

She laughed at the poet, liking the way the curls framed his face. Giovanni, sitting brooding over his wine, was watching her interaction with ill-concealed anger. She noticed his look and excused herself from her company minutes later. He could hurt the servants, but not the hired poets for that would cause too much talk. She found she was wrong. The poet was killed while out hunting with Giovanni and his companions. No one of importance cared and his lowly family couldn't protest as he was the master.

She wondered at night after either love making or beatings whether killing had been as rampart in Rome. She couldn't recall any noticeable deaths, but she did wonder what Michelotto did for Cesare and why her brother went out at night so often. What about the Pope? She shuddered at the thought.

* * *

><p>Lucrezia took the letter from the messenger and opened it. Her father was reprimanding her for letting Giulia and Adriana go off to Capodimonte to attend to her dying brother. He called her ungrateful and a willing contributor to Giulia's reconciliation with her husband Orsino Orsini. She frowned as she read, disheartened by the harsh words. She hadn't expected Orsino to appear at his nearby castle of Bassanello and try to persuade Giulia to stay there with him. Alexander angrily called Giulia a perfidious woman and assumed her reason for going to Capodimonte was to get with child by Orsino. Giulia's daughter, Laura, had been claimed as the Pope's child, but from what Rodrigo wrote it was plain the girl was Orsino's. She hadn't known that.<p>

She felt terrible as she put the letter with the rest of her correspondence. She liked Giulia because she was kind, considerate, and knew the best gossip. Giulia had helped her in governing Santa Maria (Adriana took care of most the household duties) and helped her with the ambassadors and important people who called on her hoping she could help their case with the Pope.

She was torn between the father she loved and adored and a cherished friendship. She decided to write Alexander explaining her position and hoped he would understand.

* * *

><p>King Charles of the French entered Rome with a vanguard composed of Swiss and German mercenaries. Some held halberds, which fascinated Cesare as they would be good against horsemen and deal well with spears and pikes, the others held pikes and carried short swords. Harquebusiers were squeezed in with one to every thousand. The French infantry, without armor expect for the captains, rode right behind them. Cesare whispered to Michelotto, "This is a wonderful display of arms. See those following the infantry!"<p>

Behind the infantry came the Gascon with their arbalest and after them the cavalry. The horsemen wore heavy armor, wielding maces and lances. Some five thousand of the cavalry wore lighter armor, corselets, and headpieces, carrying the long wooden bows common of the English. Two hundred knights followed at the end; their grander bearings signifying their French birth, shouldering heavy iron maces with their armor covered by purple gold embroidered surcoats. Four hundred archers body guarded the monarch. Cesare stood straightener, waiting to get his first glimpse of the French King who dared threaten to depose the Pope.

He winced when he saw Charles. He was grotesque. His statue was short and malformed and his colossal nose, mouth and brow made him obscenely ugly. Cesare looked away. How could such men bare to follow so vile a creature? He reminded himself money was all that was required for a mercenary.

Cesare turned away from the sight, leaning his head down, trying to breath. His father was going to be deposed, not by a cunning Caesar or glorious Alexander the Great, but by a misshapen creature that horrified all eyes. How could Charles bear to show his face?

"Your Eminence, the artillery is coming, you'll want a look I am sure."

He turned back around, awed at the artillery. The thirty six pieces of artillery glistened in the rear of the procession, each piece drawn by a carriage. He approximated that the longest measured eight feet and had to weight over six thousand pounds. The ball that would fly out of that beautiful beast had to be the size of a man's head! His heart sang once more with appreciation for the tools of war. One day he would be a commander and cut a figure far more striking than Charles when he did.

* * *

><p>He was not surprised when the Pope asked him, along with six other cardinals, to go to the Palace of San Marco where the king was lodged. He found Charles, looking better under the light of day rather than the darkness of night, seated beside papal legate Giuliano della Rovere.<p>

He and the cardinals approached at which point Charles sat straighter and declared, "Only the Borgia cardinal thank you. The rest may leave the room." Cesare stood unmoving as the other cardinals backed out of the room. Charles gestured to a chair which he took across from him.

"Cesare Borgia is it?" Charles asked, steeping his fingers as he leaned away from his food.

"His Holiness has sent me―."

"I am aware of why His Holiness has sent you. Let us not talk just yet of His Holiness' designs. I want to know more about you. What are your habits?"

"Me?" What kind of game were Charles and della Rovere playing he wondered as he glanced between the two. Why focus on triviality when important political manners were hanging in the balance?

"You look confused, boy," Charles laughed, "relax. I like to know a thing or two about my enemies. I suppose just by looking at you that you enjoy hunting."

"Does not every man of nobility enjoy hunting or at least pretends he does?"

"True. What are your fancies?"

"By fancies are you inquiring about my leisure enjoyments?"

"No."

"Women."

"Good to know. Too many clerics these days like little boys. Now your leisure enjoyments?"

"There is hardly time for leisure."

"Before you were a cardinal you studied in Pisa," he didn't inquire as to how Charles knew this. "I am sure you partook of some entertainments?"

"I wrestled and went to bullfights. I partook in a few of them."

"You are strong then if you wrestle."

"I am no better or worse than any man my age."

"You humble yourself. Humility is boring and uncharacteristic of your House I believe."

"I am not humble, Your Majesty, I am honest."

"So you say. Are you at all like your brother Juan? Do you gamble or kill animals for pleasure as he does in Barcelona?" He didn't inquire as to how Charles knew this either; no doubt Juan's stupidity was getting wide spread.

"I am not my brother. He is foolhardy and irresponsibility, all of each I am not."

"I do not think foolhardy describes that braggart that is your brother."

"Few words could accurately describe his folly."

"Are you fond of your family?"

"What?"

"It is a simply yes or no question."

"I do not agree that it is a simple answer. To not countenance my brother's actions is hardly reason for saying I despise him."

"I did not say despise him. I am informed of your jealousy and your resentment of his entitlements. I understand envy. What are your feelings towards others of your House?"

"You are inquiring if I would betray them?"

"I said nothing of the sort, please sit and hear me out." Cesare, finding this conversation altogether dangerous and distasteful, sat reluctantly. He didn't like the feeling of being played like a fiddle and didn't enjoy this sudden scrutiny into his person. This was not what he had imagined would be the case in this meeting.

"How old are you, cardinal?"

"Nineteen."

"Nineteen is a lovely age. I am twenty four so we are not too far apart from each other, which makes speaking to you easier. I would like to know you as a person, Cesare," Charles smiled when he said his name. He shifted uncomfortably, very few people referred to him by his name outside of his family, and definitely not on first occasions.

"I would prefer to be addressed as your Eminence."

"Does informality annoy you?"

"I do not stand it well."

"Even if I let you call me Charles?"

"Even then."

"A shame."

"From your point of view certainly." He crossed his arms. "May we move onto matters of state?"

"I do not care what His Holiness has told you to express to me, boy. Do you gamble?"

"No."

"How often do you visit whores?"

"As regularly as any."

"You tiptoe around answers you would rather not give up, yet you are frank when the question arises that doesn't displease you. That is most interesting."

"I tiptoe around nothing, Your Majesty, I merely relate what I believe to be truth. I do not think my nighttime exploits exceed that of other men my age, they are moderated."

"Everything about you is moderated it appears. You are very finely woven; your father is to be commended for rearing one son of princely bearing."

"I will pass on the compliment to His Holiness. Are there more questions?"

"Yes. Is there nothing which would cause you to break your moderate molding?"

"I am not mediocre," he smiled, adverting the implication he hinted at in his wordage.

"No, you play the game prudently is all. Answer my inquire."

"I can think of nothing off the top of my head."

"You did not pause to think. I am sure something would move you to do so, you merely do not wish to linger on the subject."

He looked down at his hands as Charles sipped his wine and della Rovere leaned over and whispered something into his ear. He wondered why this question, which he readily knew the answer to but had never desired to dwell on, exactly as Charles said, was so important to the King.

"You have the answer?"

"I do and yet refrain from answering as the information once released would not be to my benefit."

"It must be very terrible."

"Are not all things which would cause upheaval of a man's entire world?"

"You make a mound of this trifling thing."

"You are aware as I what you asked was no petty thing."

"About the state I will tell you what I desire and you will answer. I require the Pope's aid and counsel in the conquest of Naples and that Castel Sant'Angelo be handed over to me in case of need."

"That is agreeable."

"That is not all. I require hostages in assurance of the Pope's friendly demeanor. Prince Djem, brother of Sultan Bajazet, is to be delivered over."

"I will confer with His Holiness about that."

"I would appreciate another hostage. A cardinal will suffice."

"Name the man."

"You."

His answer came with no hesitance, "His Holiness will consent to anything necessary for the state of the Church."

"You take the news well. That is no surprise though, you've an adaptable mind. Take my terms to His Holiness and let us see if he is as complaisant as you."

"You will recognize the Pope and uphold all his rights in return?"

"Of course," della Rovere said nothing at this, looking vexed as he glanced at Charles.

* * *

><p>"He dare he ask you to be his hostage!"<p>

"You cannot refuse his terms, not with his sword at our throat. I will not be harmed so long as you agree to the proposed terms and see them through."

"Bastard!" Alexander roared, walking angrily around the furniture in his Papal apartment. "I will not kowtow to some French hunchback!"

"He is not that malformed. In the light he appears statelier."

"Are you turning French on me?"

"Hardly that. I only see the position is unpleasant. We must play the part Charles desires for us now. However…no one said anything about me remaining a hostage for long."

"You mean what exactly?" He knew Alexander understood his meaning.

"I stay a while with Charles and after a certain duration take my leave."

"How do you intend to do that?"

"I will find a way. I will be back before you notice I am missing."

"I still don't want to give up Castel Sant'Angelo."

"You must for now."

Alexander stopped pacing; hands clasped in prayer a moment before he nodded. "Send word that the treaty will be signed."

* * *

><p>In the Consistory Charles kissed Alexander's foot and ring, professing obedience to the Church as previous kings of France had done. Charles remained twelve days in Rome, setting out at the end of January for Naples. Charles took his leave of the Pope, both exchanging warm regards, even though Cesare saw the twitch to Alexander's lips at the end of each of his remarks. Alexander even went so far as to embrace him after he knelt for the Pope's blessing. Cesare, standing a short distance away brought his present forward. Six beautiful chargers would be his show of friendship to the King. Charles smiled graciously, thanking him with warm laced word.<p>

Cesare rode solemnly by the French King's right side, lodging as an honored guest in Marino and Velletri. It was while he was eating dinner one night that Giuliano della Rovere visited him. Giuliano sat across from him, wearing not his cardinal robes but simple unadorned secular garments.

"Do your quarters in Velletri please you?"

"They do," he answered, wondering why della Rovere had called on him. Della Rovere and Rodrigo had been enemies for years, going back to before his Papacy from what little Cesare knew of the revelry.

"Do you enjoy being a cardinal?"

"As much as any young man does I suppose."

"Not very much then."

"I do not hate being a cardinal."

"Becoming Pope is what cardinals' desire, expect when young. The young take the wealth of the old in Conclave, rise to great stations, and lose it all to become Pope themselves someday. Once Pope they give to their families generously and overindulge in every aspect."

"That is not a bad assessment of the Pope, simony and nepotism are as old as the Church."

"Those twin vices which propel a man into the divine position of Christ's Vicar are more fashionable these days than piety and probity."

"I would temperate my words, Cardinal, for piety and probity are the simpleton's traits and the commoner who amounts to nothing. However they are good qualities which God in Heaven must revel in to make so many inclined to those virtues."

"Do you think the vices or the virtues hold more stray over man?"

"The vices hold the allure of power and fortunate; the virtues I find lead to nothing but a convent or monastery. I speak offensively I know, but we need not moderate our words for we are not in Conclave ourselves. I do admit as a practical man virtue in others…pleases me in a strange way. Perhaps that is God's way of remonstrating me for what I am; I long for what I cannot be."

"You speak frankly with me."

"I like honesty in others; though I seldom employ it. Occasionally sincerity leaks out."

"Do you not think there is reason for it?"

"What do you mean?"

"For a long time I desired to gaze upon your face." He started as Giuliano pressed his aged hand to his, fingers fastening around his hand and wrist like a vice.

"What do you mean?"

"You lack the traits of Rodrigo Borgia. Is that not obvious?"

"I am told I resemble my mother Vannozza," he watched della Rovere close his eyes as if in pain.

"You do somewhat. You resemble your father even more."

"You imply something I do not like."

"Does the idea frighten you?" He yanked his hand free, rising so he wouldn't have to meet the man's eyes.

"Was it you who made Charles choose me as hostage?"

"I urged him to it and he accepted, it was politically sound as well. He knows why I desire to speak to you."

"Stop this," he declared.

"There was never any hint of…"

"None and I beg you cease this talk. I am a Borgia."

"You've been too long with them."

"Stop."

"No."

"Leave!" He turned away from Giuliano, aware of a sinking in his chest at the thought he might not be who he had always assumed he was.

"Ask Vannozza…she can tell you the truth Rodrigo keeps from you." He waited until della Rovere had left before breathing deeply; concerned that Giuliano might espy his worry with his exhalation.

Charles was met in Velletri by the Spanish ambassador who declared that Ferdinand and Isabella would not tolerate his conquest of Naples as both monarchs had claims to it and that they would go to war if Charles did not end this enterprise.

Cesare, ready for flight at a moment's notice, decided now was the appropriate instance. He donned the garments of a simple groom and thus disguised exited Velletri. Francesco del Sacco waited with a horse. He rode like lightening back to Rome and, instead of returning to the Vatican, went to a trusted Tribunal Antonio Flores. He sent word from Flores's house to the Pope of his return and on the following day withdrew to Spoleto. Cesare was welcomed back to the Vatican days later, surprised that Charles didn't make any complaint against his escape.

* * *

><p>"Dearest Mother," he embraced her tightly, breathing in her smell and clinging to her damask gown.<p>

"Cesare!" She kissed his cheeks, her dark eyes bright as onyx jewels. "I feared you were still with the French. When I heard His Holiness had sent you away I was vexed! Was it terrible, my son?"

"Not entirely. Come, it is dark in here and I would like to speak to you where I may look upon your face. Out to the garden and I will tell you of my escape." The garden outside Vannozza's house―he had been forced to leave at an early age―was beautiful. Vannozza took great pride in her plants, doing all the work with her own hands.

"You still have those white carnations there and that tree Juan loved to climb still thrives."

"Yes."

"Lucrezia use to pick the carnations and by cutting little holes in the stems and tying them together she would make necklaces for herself and crowns for me."

"I remember getting very upset every time she did, but the silly girl never stopped." Of all her children Lucrezia and Vannozza got along very poorly, do likely to Vannozza's coveting of her daughter's youth and Lucrezia's love of Adrianna de Mila that made her hesitant around her blood mother.

"I remember in the Orsini Palace Adrianna would always scold Lucrezia and I for sneaking sweetmeats before the meal. She would find us in my bed or hers at night, cuddling like little cubs Orsino use to say. You never scolded when you found us together."

"You were still children in my care."

"I suppose."

"Cesare," she touched his arm, eyes pleading for an answer to his morose state. He rarely talked about the happy past; usually because he found speaking about it reminded him of the uncertain present.

"I am filled with uncertainty, Mother."

"You've nothing to be scared about, darling, Charles won't do anything to you for escaping I'm sure. As for His Holiness he'll be well; he deals with adversity easily and always has. I remember when his uncle Callixtus, bless his soul, died. His brother Pedro Luis fled Rome and Catalans were being persecuted left and right by the Orsini. Rodrigo was in Conclave surrounded by enemies and he managed tactfully to advert death, keep his position of Vice-Chancellor, and even prosper under Pius and the Popes that followed."

"Was it during Sixtus IV's reign you erred?"

"What are you talking about?"

"That you decided to sleep with della Rovere?" Her startled look sent a shiver down his spine.

"Who told you this nonsense?"

"Do you deny it?"

"I did sleep with della Rovere," he took a deep breath, his anger boiling and worried his anger would make him do something he'd regret in a moment. "That was before I knew Rodrigo."

"You swear!"

"I swear!"

"You lie! I spoke to della Rovere while I was with the French and he seemed more than a little convinced I was his."

"Cesare, relax and let me explain."

"You can explain all you want, whore, but that will not make you a proper lady!"

"Don't speak to me that way," Vannozza smacked him across the cheek. "I was with della Rovere while Rodrigo was in Spain giving Ferdinand his dispensation to marry Isabella. He returned to Rome and we became acquainted and very shortly lovers. Della Rovere never forgave me for the betrayal. He claimed I was the love of his life."

"When was this?"

"1470."

"If that is so and you stayed with Rodrigo then why does della Rovere wish to claim me? There are either discrepancies in your story or he lied."

"You trust your father's most hated enemy over me?"

"Mother I trust few. Tell me the truth. If della Rovere sincerely believes me to be his son how can that be when I was born after you began with Rodrigo and you were supposedly faithful? I will not fault you for betraying him. I sweat this on my own life. Just be honest with me!"

She turned away from him, walking up the path with a slow practiced step.

"We've all done things we regret, Mother, God knows I wish I felt differently about…"

"Cesare," she smiled wanly. "Rodrigo was rarely faithful. His eye always strayed to beautiful women, but he loved me. I loved him too, sometimes I still think I do. He stopped visiting me for a while after a nasty snap we had. I had just found out about his first indiscretion and I took the news poorly. I was lonely and afraid I'd lost him."

"So you turned to della Rovere?"

"I needed solace and della Rovere was adamant about his supposed love. Rodrigo only found out about della Rovere much later. I think that's why he punished you; why he sent you to Perugia and Pisa and why he so stubbornly refused to allow you back to Rome after his rise to Pope."

"He thinks I'm della Rovere's."

"I swear I only slept with him once after Rodrigo, I was too guilt ridden to repeat my actions. Even now I regret it knowing how much it's hurt him and you. In all likelihood you are Rodrigo's."

"There is no certainty though."

"I'm sorry, my son," she embraced him. "You've no idea how much I wished I could take that back."

"Mother," he held her, aware of a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He might not be a Borgia and every dream he'd ever had was now deteriorating before his eyes.

"Cesare, look at me," she touched his auburn hair, "you are a Borgia. I believe you are and if the love you hold for your siblings and Rodrigo doesn't make you one than nothing will."

He smiled but it came out strained. He embraced her a second time before letting go and walking back inside. Vannozza followed, offering him wine before he went his way, but he declined. Vannozza knew as well as him that his way of coming to terms with things was through solitary contemplation. He kissed her goodnight and walked through Rome's streets back towards the Vatican.

Some scruffy children, from the looks of them homeless, were hanging out near the Borgo. During the day rosary and umbrella makers showed their wares from their shops with pride. In the Borgo Vecchio several foundries cast bronze artwork and bells. Many taverns served wine and food for pilgrims and brothels were usually close by if not conjoined in the same building. Vannozza owned several reputable inns and taverns and a lucrative brothel.

Focusing on his surroundings rather than his tumultuous thoughts helped. He approached the cluster of boys, "Sing something for me and I'll give you each a ducat."

They exchanged weary gazes, signifying some unspoken mistrust between them for him, and edged cautiously away. Before they could scatter he held up his fat purse; saw the gleams of envious eyes and pulled out four ducats.

"Sing something I like and there will be more than one ducat each."

They huddled together, whispering secretively and glancing occasionally at him. "Are you an Orsini or Colonna?"

"Neither. I am a Catalan."

"We got something for you then."

"I get to finish."

"You always go."

"That is because I deliver the end the best."

"Hurry up or you'll get no ducats."

"It isn't really a song," one boy added.

"More irksome than plague, pope, or emperor," his voice was clearly in the stage of changing from boy to man.

"More irksome than famine, Frenchman or Spaniard," the audacious boy winked at him at the last word.

"More irksome, rough, and ruinous to Rome," said the tallest one with a smile of yellowed and rotten teeth.

"Are Savelli, Orsini, Cenci, and Colonna," he held his hand out expectedly after the last word. Cesare laughed, handing each boy two ducats. The silly epigram was hilarious because it was true.


	3. Chapter 3

Rodrigo embraced her warmly. She whispering softly near his ear, "I'm sorry."

"I am the Vicar of Christ, child, I forgive all sins. You look well, little one. Doesn't she look well, Cesare, Juan?"

Juan, standing near the entrance, was examining his nails and said with little enthusiasm, "Glad to see you've returned sister." She hugged Juan despite his standoffish attitude, smiling at his annoyed look.

"It is good to have you back in Rome, Crezia." She rushed to Cesare's arms, burying her face in his blue velvet.

"Jofre and his new bride Sancia have come too," Rodrigo said. "Now all my children are here. This is a good day."

"Did you see Sancia?" Juan's flamboyance, which she recalled every time she thought on him, had returned. "She is too old for little Jofre."

"She is a sultry bitch. I'd be surprised if any man could tame her," Rodrigo concluded, laughing with Juan. Rodrigo was happiest when he was being rowdy.

She took Cesare's arm and left them, knowing Rodrigo wanted to talk to Juan at the moment.

"Has father forgiven Giulia?" She inquired, surprised at how strong his arm felt beneath her hand. She had forgotten since she'd gone with Giovanni to Pesaro what men of worth were like.

"He appears to. I believe she has been grateful. My opinion of her is rather lacking. I know you adore her, but her actions as of late, when we needed friendship the most, have been deplorable."

"What do you mean?"

"King Charles walked right into Rome while you hid in Pesaro. He could have deposed Alexander, but our father tactfully adverted the situation. Charles wasn't overeager to dethrone the Pope; he just wanted Alexander to accept his bid for Naples. He will soon find though that Naples isn't much of a prize. It is infested with plague at the moment and worst then that his enemies are rallying against him. He will soon be hurrying back to the safety of France. Trust me on that."

"You sound so important when you speak about politics, Cesare. Have you seen Sancia? I saw her when she and Jofre arrived. She is very beautiful."

"I've yet to meet her. Do not worry, sister," he gave her hand a squeeze, "no woman can compare to you, especially a harlot like Sancia."

She smiled, pulling away from him to twirl around the hall. "I can't wait to dance, Cesare, they rarely danced or had feasts."

"Rodrigo likes feasts," she couldn't tell if that was an intentional barb at his weight or truth spoken without aggression. Rodrigo didn't really like elaborate feasts, which vexed more than one noble. "How was Pesaro?"

"Pesaro was fine," she stated, raising her arms and whirling in her bright yellow gown. "Pesaro was not as small as I assumed. I think Rome is much bigger."

"Your family is here too."

"That is my primary reason for returning."

She laughed wildly when he grabbed her about the waist and lifted her feet off the ground. He swung them around as she giggled and kicked.

"Oh, Jofre!" Cesare set her down, "How was Naples?"

"Good," Jofre still had a boy's face, but at thirteen that was expected. He looked good in his blue jerkin and white hose.

"This is your illustrious wife?" Sancia was dark haired and slender waisted with a clear complexion. Her nose was strong and she held her head arrogantly.

"This is Sancia," his voice had a tone of vexation. She couldn't understand why when the girl before her was beautiful; unless she was as wanton as the rumors claimed.

"You must be…Juan?"

"Cesare Borgia and this is Lucrezia Borgia."

"Pleasure to meet my new family. The Naples gossipers say Juan is the handsomest man in Rome, but I find they didn't praise your Eminence enough. I think they had the wrong brother."

Cesare, always liking his vanity stroked, smiled graciously at Sancia. Jofre was looking for the entire world like he wanted to melt into the wall.

"Sancia, for God's sake, not my brother."

"Not your brother what?" Sancia's smug smile and knowing brown eyes said she knew exactly what Jofre was implying.

"You bed half the men in Naples while we are there and now you want my family too?" Jofre threw his hands into the air and marched off down the hall.

Sancia laughed and called after him, seductive even as she taunted, "A spoil sport is not appreciated." Her head was turned to Jofre's direction, revealing her long and graceful neck. Lucrezia was envious of it; her own was short. She gave a dainty shrug as she turned back towards them, "I hope, your Eminence, that my reputation precedes me."

She was annoyed that Cesare's face, impartial as it habitually was, spoke nothing of what churned behind his eyes. She wanted to know if he found Sancia appealing. She certainly envied the woman her easy charm whereas her immodesty was a vice Lucrezia was grateful she lacked.

* * *

><p>"You will divorce Giovanni Sforza," Alexander firmly informed her, his voice and face saying clearly he would tolerate nothing else.<p>

"But you wanted this marriage?"

"Giovanni," Cesare stepped in, "is politically useless given our new alliance with Venice and the other foreign powers. We want to repel the French now. Giovanni did nothing to hinder them for us when they came creeping into Rome."

"Why should Giovanni have done anything? He's only the lowly Lord of Pesaro."

"I hate explaining the situation to you," Alexander reached for some grapes beside him, eating with a vexed expression. "Answer all her womanly questions. God knows she won't stop inquiring if you don't."

Lucrezia frowned, staring dejectedly at her hands. His mood was clear and when he was so ill-deposed he could be rude and mean.

"Giovanni is a Sforza; a third rate one you could say. His cousin Ludovico… You do know who Ludovico is right?"

"The Duke of Milan?" She only knew he was the Duke of Milan because Giulia had told her about him shortly before she'd been asked to see her father. She'd heard the Moor's name plenty of times, but had never given him any more thought.

"At least she knows that!" Alexander laughed bitterly.

"Ludovico is our ally, some say friend, but we would not go so far. He is useful to us only as long as the French knock at our door. He knows this loose alliance is bound to crumple too and has taken precautions of course. The King of France remains only a step away from being ousted from here. We tolerate your marriage until Ludovico makes his move."

"What move is that?" She felt she was following him so far.

"He will align himself to France once he sees the position of our league. He is on our side for now, but he will redraw and when he does we will not let your marriage continue. Until this time has come Giovanni will be given a condotta of six hundred lances as a sign of our good will."

"When will Ludovico act and why do you assume he will side with France?" The most puzzling part for her was always the why of politics.

"Ludovico will redraw from our league shortly given the circumstances and he will side with the French because he can't trust our league."

"But he can't trust the French either."

"They, you stupid girl, are both motivated by the same desire to stop this powerful league, though not for the same reasons." Alexander stood, "You will divorce Giovanni when we say and if you do not he will breathe his last. Do I make myself clear?"

"You plan to kill him? Can you do that? He's Lord of Pesaro, doesn't that make him immune?" Alexander rolled his eyes and gave Cesare an exaggerated sigh as show of his displeasure at her ignorance.

Cesare grabbed Alexander's arm and the two talked in hushed tones for a good minute before Rodrigo, threw his arms into the air, and marched out. The gestures so reminded her of Jofre she burst out laughing as Cesare took Rodrigo's seat. He picked up some grapes and ate, watching her mirth with confusion.

"What was funny?"

"Father just reminded me why Jofre is his son." Cesare's smile didn't reach as far as it should have. He was giving one of his strained smiles. She detested those. "Why is Alexander so vexed that I know nothing? Why should I, closeted away like a nun, know anything of politics?"

"He expects you to have heard of the circumstances we are in, but given your licentious company I suspect you hear little of anything but jewels and garments."

"Licentious," her expression was thoughtful as she recalled that Giulia was the Pope's mistress and Sancia a harlot. "I suppose that is true. I have bad influences, brother," she winked playfully.

He laughed, nearly choking on his grape. "I hope your modesty is still intact. Sancia isn't a fitting presence around someone as sweet as you."

"I promise she hasn't corrupted me. I am still your sweet, little sister." Cesare smiled good naturedly.

"Why did Father go away?"

"I told him I'd explain to you the necessary of being rid of unwanted trash. He prefers Juan and Giulia's company anyway."

"Are you talking of Giovanni?"

"You've a wit that is wasted in your current situation. Even lords such as Giovanni can be done away with; poison and daggers don't discriminate. I'd have thought the learned men who visit you in Santa Maria would have expanded your politic grasp."

"Giulia deals with them mostly. I usually play the flute or dance for them. Some of them are very handsome. I do hear things, but nothing I care about."

"You should, for your own safety, become more involved in at least gauging the political climate. Men like that in women."

"They do not."

"They do too."

"Giulia says otherwise."

"Giulia plays well at politics, sister. Giulia does you a disservice; she fears your influence over Alexander. Alexander loves her mind as much as her body. Alessandro was given the red hat recently due to Giulia's bedtime prodding."

"Really?"

"If I told you I enjoy intelligent women would you learn it?"

"I am intelligent, you oaf. I know Italian, Valencian, French, Latin, and Greek." Seeing his smile, "I also dance better than any woman in Rome and I play the flute well enough."

"That, dear sister, makes you no better than any other lady, the only exception being you know Valencian. And I doubt you are the best dancer in Rome, Sancia is quite good." He was goading her. Of course being a Borgia she didn't take well to goading.

"Do not provoke me!"

"I am doing this for your own well-being," he stated matter-of-factly when he saw her anger. "You are in an unfavorable position continually without being aware."

"I don't want to be made aware. I prefer my simple life."

"Child!"

"Mean bastard!"

Silence enveloped them as Cesare stared somewhere above her and she glanced at her feet.

"I'm sorry, Chez."

"Don't worry about it, Crezia." They had for as long as both could remember little spats like this, which usually resolved themselves in minutes.

She stood and leaned into his arms, settling in his lap like she had done so often as a child. She ignored his discomfort. "I forgive you for being mean."

"I am only trying to show you how politics affect people. If Father and I died," she shushed him by covering his mouth.

"You won't ever die." He pulled her hand off and set it in her lap, his fingers warming her cold ones.

"If all the men in this family die, and believe me someday we will, you must be prepared to face the world on your own. If we died today, love," she shuddered at the intimacy in his endearment. "You'd be left to that husband of yours and you've little knowledge to defend you from intrigue. I merely want to make you aware of what things could befall you. You know what I mean, Lucrezia, that in less loving hands you might not be safe."

She nodded mutely, remembering the deaths Giovanni ordered in Pesaro and the harsh beatings.

"That is all I want to say now."

"Cesare."

"Yes?"

"I won't go back to Pesaro. I would rather die." His eyes searched hers for the reason because her face was closed off.

"Why?"

"It was terribly dull."

"I see," he didn't press further. "If it is within my power to convince Alexander, which shouldn't take much, you won't. You know he was only brusque with you out of concern."

"I know," she did now anyway.

"Good. I'll see you later. I've a fitting to go to."

* * *

><p>"I like Orvieto," Alexander said to the young Farnese. "I think we should stay a while." Alexander's meaning, to Cesare at least, was easy to discern. King Charles, angry at the league made by Milan, Venice, and the Holy See to oust him from Naples, was marching on Rome. Alexander had no intention of returning to Rome immediately. They were tactfully evading the King of France for now.<p>

"So Charles has entered Rome," Alessandro inquired, smiling. Since his rewarding of the red hat the man was more commonly known amongst the people as 'the petticoat cardinal' due to Giulia's relationship with the Pope.

"June first."

"I bet he was upset."

"Assuredly. I'm waiting for word from the league before I move on."

War broke out in Fornovo between the French and allies. Both sides claimed victory. Charles suffered heavy losses to men, artillery, and his tents and carriages. All the mules with his Neapolitan booty were captured by the allies under Gonzaga of Mantua. His return to France was celebrated by the allies and considered a great lost by Charles, who left the expedition no better than when he had entered it. The worse lost to Charles was his own personal suffering; he grained the 'Great Pox' disease while in Naples. The French called it the Naples disease while Neapolitans referred to it as the French or Gallic disease.


	4. Chapter 4

"And he said in a letter to his cousin Ludovico Sforza about the marriage, "If I had foreseen in what position I was to be placed I would sooner have eaten the straw under my body than have entered into such an agreement."

"What a sight that would have made!" Rodrigo Borgia laughed riotously with several ambassadors and companions. "I think it would be more entertaining than the sight of him proving his impotence."

Cesare watched the party with little interest, his attention focused on his sister. Lucrezia for her part was ignoring all the searing words directed at Giovanni with disdain. Every unflattering remark to her husband in her immediate presence was regulated to beneath notice. He envied her for her control, if in her position he'd have taken each barb as an insult and personally remonstrated each jeerer until the person fled in terror away from him or showed spine by silence.

There was little color to her usually rosy cheeks. He was not accustomed to see her in the trappings of courtesans who painted their faces with rouge, but he was not above noticing her lack of coloring at the flattering comments by others. Lucrezia was underneath all her easy grace and charm a shy creature that blushed easily under the gazes of pandering courtiers.

He glanced over at Jofre. His younger brother was dressed for the evening in scarlet, a ruby dangling to the middle of his chest by a gold chain. His hose were multicolored, one leg red with the other white. He seemed interested at the moment in a sweetmeat on a platter before him. Jofre's appetite was foremost in his mind. Cesare didn't fail to notice the beginning onset of weight on Jofre's once boyish body. Jofre was still good to the eyes of most women, but Cesare knew age and overindulgence would make him unpleasant soon enough.

Jofre's wife, Sancia of Aragon, was renowned for her beauty as well as her own appetites. Her white low-cut dress, hinting at the chastity of a bride and ease of the whore all at once, where tastefully done. Sancia knew her art well, enticing men was her game and she had the means to achieve it. The dress, no doubt painstakingly chosen from a host of lavish costumes, could not hide the fact she was more suited to a brothel than at a feast amongst civilized company. Granted the company wasn't truly civilized; cardinals were as much lechers as those of the secular state.

The pearls at Sancia's neck were something Lucrezia would marvel at if her mind wasn't distracted. He brought attention to Sancia's accessory. Her modest garb, an earth colored tone with a high neck, was unappealing, but Lucrezia had worn it solely for that purpose. Lucrezia shrugged, "I've a dozen just as stunning."

"But you do not don them."

"I do not want to."

"Why not?" He was intentionally teasing, one of few games from childhood that had lasted.

"You know why," her words were mild, but her eyes were frigid. She was sick of being reminded of her shame, but Cesare was not content.

"All of Rome, sweet sister, knows the truth, why pretend otherwise?" She glared at him, her hazel eyes pretty even when distressed. She stood and walked away from him.

"I tried," Adriana De Mila said to his left, seeing Lucrezia's hasty departure, "to teach His Holiness's daughter some etiquette, but the girl is too willful."

"You forget yourself, Adriana," Juan said, good humor in his face and voice.

"She forgets only one thing," Cesare intoned, voice as soft as velvet.

"What is that pray tell?"

"Lucrezia is a Borgia. All Borgia chafe at obedience, you included," he sipped his wine as Adriana went back to her plate.

"Is that why, brother," Juan said, smile almost to bursting as he fought himself to remain serious, "you rebel against your robes?"

"Perhaps."

"Is it not then that you renounce the Church?" Juan was trying to goad him into admitting that he'd rebel against their father's wishes. Cesare had no qualm with admitting thus, which Juan's inferior intelligent did not pick up on.

"No, indeed," he said with a wave of his arm, "You are the type who would speak of disobedience, I the type to do."

"Bah," Juan scoffed, "I am the type to do." He glanced, not even fugitively at Sancia's bosom and when she noticed his wanton look she smiled into her cup.

"That is one prize not worth the effort."

"She is ravishing, poor Jofre hasn't the mettle for her."

"She'd tear you to pieces."

"I'd ruin her first," Juan and Sancia were suited for each other, both ravenous beasts of lust. "Why aren't you enticed, Cesare, you did at least flatter her when she first arrived?"

"Rumors are not always to be believed and because of that I treated her as our brother's wife, alas this time rumor holds water."

"Water, eh?" Juan's eyes held a sexual incognito involving Sancia Cesare was not interested in entertaining.

"Too many hands dipped in one well isn't appealing, brother, but you are welcomed to her."

"Too many hands? Courtesans know their ware for a reason yet you play with them."

"Borgia hands," Cesare said with a shrug. More often than not Juan needed things spelled out for him; it was irritating when Cesare preferred word games.

"You think His Holiness?" He looked over at Alexander. He was laughing, one arm loosely about Giulia Farnese's shoulder. He hardly appeared a Pope. Giulia Farnese, known as La Bella for her beauty, was lovelier to behold than Sancia in his mind. Both were openly sexual in different ways. Sancia was more one night courtesan where Giulia was mistress material. He doubted Alexander would break his stupor over Giulia for one night with Sancia. His mind went to Lucrezia who, he thought, was the wifely figure amongst the three; strangely enough she was the youngest.

"Who can say?"

Thinking on her behavior this evening she certainly captured the maturity necessary for a dutiful wife. It was hard to remember she was only seventeen. She'd been forced, thanks to Alexander's scheming, to grow up early.

He wondered if she had wandered off to bed, but doubted that conclusion. Lucrezia may have been more respectable than Sancia, but she didn't go to bed this early.

He climbed the stairs leading from the Vatican to Santa Maria in Portico. He found once inside Lucrezia's palace that she had retired to her chambers and did not wish to be disturbed. Ignoring the lady-in-waiting he went without being announced into her chamber. He was not going to play civil if she didn't. He found her taking out her flute.

She didn't say anything to him as she prepared to play. He settled beside the hearth, listening to the melancholy tune. "I think I should play instead," he said when she had finished and did not immediately pick it up again.

"If you like," her tone was far from warm.

"You must tell me you are not angry at my earlier words."

"I will do no such thing."

He grabbed the flute from her hands and played a gay song. Lucrezia's musical ability came from years of training; his was derived more from talent than instruction. Her mood did not lighten.

"Truly, Lucrezia, is the idea of Giovanni Sforza so…"

"So?"

He hesitated, running his long fingers over the holes of the instrument.

"Do you miss him?" Her silence was infuriating. "Well?"

"There are certain things about Giovanni I miss, but that isn't what you're inquiring about."

His anger tapered off at her quick display of wit. "What am I after?"

"You want to know if I loved him."

"You say love in the past tense," he pointed out, smiling, his back still to her. He turned his head and met her piercing eyes. Blue and green with a small trace of gray fought brown for domination in her flecked orbs. Her eyes were fascinating to him because they were so unique. Cesare Borgia loved unique things. "Why would I want to know that?"

"You realize, quite unlike Juan," her appeal to his superiority over Juan's incompetent mind always made him smile, "that my loyalty to the Borgia cause could be diminished if I love my husband too much."

"Should I seek comfort, Lucrezia?"

"Rest assured Giovanni Sforza was more cowardly pig than man."

"A coward is a deplorable thing in a husband. He ran back to Pesaro like he was chased! I suppose he feared being skewed by the Borgia bull."

"One could also call him sensible." He met her gaze as he stood, noting the teasing now apparent in her eyes. "My flute please?"

"When this conversation is over. You said you missed things about Giovanni?"

"I was not intending to air them."

"I'm your kin; you can be frank with me."

"Can I? If I speak too freely to Juan he babbles to all manner of men and women."

"I am not Juan."

"Close enough." Lucrezia's skill at goading was ten times that of Juan; she at least knew which things pushed his bottoms.

Deciding a different tack than wordplay, Lucrezia was overly good at it and at times his better; he flung the flute to the chair and pounced. They had played this game as children too, but unlike the teasing, this was a private game of cat and mouse. He tickled her until her laugher filled the chamber to the brim. The sound was akin to muses giggling in their glades.

"Cesare," she yelped with laughter, "Stop, Cesare!" She batted at his hands with trimmed nails and finally dug deep gloves. Her voice and the closeness of her warm body were too much for him and he relented.

Exhausted and rejuvenated in tandem she rolled onto her back, gown forming like mounds of earth beneath a farmer's plough. He watched her gold ringlets fall onto her back and saw how the low dip of the dress in the back revealed her shoulders. Her tawny hair and fair skin complimented each other beautifully.

He longed to touch that cream colored skin; he had often wondered if her skin was as soft as it appeared. His yearning for her was insatiable; no matter how many courtesans he took to bed he found he was never rid of the memory of her. Last week he'd been bedded down with one of his favorite and in the middle of it, as he grasped her dark brown hair, he'd thought it had been Lucrezia's yellow. Even in passion his mind roamed to her eventually. He only ever had a moment's reprieve when he slept. His lustful looks he made sure were hidden; he doubted he would be able to bear the shame of her knowing his sinful thoughts. He may have been a Borgia and not adverse to the sins of the world, but he couldn't bear the look she'd give him if she knew his twisted mind.

Dismissing these thoughts for now he focused on the more important task of getting the truth out of Lucrezia. She was typically open and honest with the family about things, but when she got it in her pretty head to be stubborn she was worse than Alexander.

"You will now tell me about Giovanni or I will resume my torment."

"I'd prefer the rack," she sprouted in his direction, kicking her little feet at his belly. He caught her foot and disposed of the turnshoe. His fingers found the bottom of her foot and mercilessly provoked her. She yanked, quite viciously, but his grip was iron hard. "You play meanly, brother," her pout was insanely attractive and after a few seconds of relishing in his torture he released her. He knew few women who could pull a pout off as well as Lucrezia.

"I did it just to see you pout," he said, smiling slyly, knowing how much she hated his adoration of hit.

"Even so I do not want to talk of Giovanni, may we change the subject. Sancia for example was pretty today."

"I take it you do not find her pretty every day?"

"She hardly passed my standards today," she teased, reveling in her superiority of Sancia in beauty. Which of them was more beautiful truly, he'd found, came down to the taste of the man.

Lucrezia and Sancia got on well, even spending unnecessary time in each other's company. He found it startling that a sweet girl like Lucrezia looked forward to her time with a harpy like Sancia. They both loved elaborate clothing, expensive jewelry, and the arts. The only subject which ever sprang up that disrupted their odd friendship was rivalry over who was lovelier.

Giulia, though close to Lucrezia, disliked Sancia. This dislike had nothing to do with Giulia's beauty, where Sancia and Lucrezia were insecure about their looks Giulia was arrogantly assured of hers. The only reason he came up with for the dislike was the jealousy over the alleged rumors involving Sancia and the Pope.

"Sancia's beauty is wholly of the material world; your beauty is ethereal and transcends all realms of existence." Lucrezia's pleasure was as evident as his own at her praising of him over Juan. Both were Borgia children and glowed in praise. He longed to cup her cheeks, kiss her rosy lips, and dive into the pleasure her looks displayed but did not offer.

"Ah, so here is where you went, Cesare," her silky seductive drawl of his name was like a lover's. "And insulting me to please your little sister is generous of you!"

Sancia was not a Borgia and did not take insults badly. She bathed in attention of any kind for she hated being ignored. He had learned this when his flattery stopped and her focus had shifted to him. He was certain in her head she had vowed to get him in her bed and into her clutches.

"Sister-in-law," he was not in the mood to be disrupted by Sancia's pettiness. He had nearly gotten Lucrezia to confess about Giovanni and he would not rest now. He could not tell if her cheeks whitened because of the rouge, but he could see the twitch at the corner of her lips. Sancia was not impervious to an angry Cesare Borgia.

"Oh, Cesare, you're looking deliciously dangerous," her eyes were flashing in challenge.

"I do not believe I invited you, Sancia," Lucrezia said, realizing his fury was close at hand. Sancia was too new to Rome to know that his fury was not something to be wished for. She grabbed his hand, twining their fingers and met his eyes imploringly. His fury, consisting of minced words and the occasional blow, was notorious throughout Rome. Cesare was angriest when he was most decorous, his words would flow like honey with all the swiftness of a whip against flesh and just as painful.

He smiled at her solemnity and gestured to Sancia with a sweep of his elegant arm. "Dear sister-in-law, wife of my blood," Lucrezia braced herself, knowing as well as he that once he started he was determined to see it to its end. Sancia was naively smiling, thinking her victory was near. Cesare was amazingly proficient at leading people to false security. "Come, take a seat with us. I'm sure you need to conserve your energy."

"Why would I need to conserve anything? I'm full of life."

"I merely was curious as to how you had the energy for daily activities."

"What do you mean?"

"You are the whore of Rome, how does your womanly flesh not smart from all the trysts?"

Sancia laughed as her ease came back; the lewd conversation was amusing to her for few people ever dared speak such to her face. "One not need always be taken from the front is how, dear brother-in-law, and coupling is not always necessary for gratification."

"The immodest Sancia of Aragon is bluntly obscene."

"I am beyond obscene!" She fell into a fit of giggles.

The gleam in Cesare's eye was usually mistaken for joviality, but was his contempt for those he thrashed with his words. The true reason he'd latched onto Sancia's sexuality was about to become known.

"It is this sexuality which puzzles me, Sancia," he said her name friendly, almost amorously, which excited Sancia from all appearance. "I have pondered it laboriously and came to the conclusion it was merely your youth along with the lack of scruples in this age, lecherous as it is, which cause you to be thus. I grow uncertain now and second guess myself. I am convinced my second line of thought is more accurate. Do you mind if I share it with you?"

She was all smiles and flirtatious head bob in answer, her mood completely undeterred at his smirk.

"King Ferdinand I is well known for one particularly bizarre pastime." Sancia's sudden unease was surprising to Lucrezia, seeing Sancia anything but over confident was astonishing. Sancia's ease with herself, especially in her seedy actions, was one of her main appeals to Lucrezia.

"He likes hunting and is without equal in courage, good qualities for a ruler. It is not these he is well-known for. He has two favorite ways of dealing with enemies. Sancia, do you know them?"

The red in her cheeks wasn't all from the rouge. "I do not desire to speak of Naples, certainly not of my grandfather."

"I would like to speak of him, very much I would. He likes his enemies alive and dead. The lucky men remain imprisoned and well-guarded, the unlucky bastards are—."

"If you care at all for propriety cease."

"Propriety all of a sudden, Sancia, quite the change!"

"I do not like―."

"I do not care!" He grabbed her chin, meeting her discomfiture with contempt. "Don Ferrante likes his enemies embalmed and left, dressed as they were in life, as a tangible tribute to his greatest. Mummies, a mummy museum!" He laughed, pleased that each word made her tremble more and increased her frustration until she was on the verge of tears. Whatever it was that bothered Sancia about Ferrante's collection of bodies was not known to him, probably just the sight itself turned her stomach. He let her go and watched her slick from the room like a beaten dog from its master.

"That was unnecessarily cruel, Cesare," Lucrezia said sharply to his left. "How would you like it if someone's toyed with you in that manner, uncaring for your feelings?"

"I was not uncaring."

"I think you took pleasure from her pain. Sometimes I do not know you."

"You know me, Lucrezia," he turned and went over to her. Her eyes were more frigid than earlier. "Come now."

"This will be no easy fix. You were teasing me earlier, but you were not with Sancia."

"You like the whore too much."

"She is my friend."

"You need better friends."

"I need a different brother."

"I suppose Juan and Jofre would not be adverse to a different brother. Let us vote on one and make it so!"

"Do not be snide with me!" Lucrezia stomped her foot childishly, glaring into his eyes.

"If you stop being jejune I might abstain."

"What is jejune?"

"Your tender age makes it so you do not know the word."

"I've never heard it spoken. What does it mean?"

"Nor read it apparently."

"Hush, tell me what it means." Lucrezia was showing her childish side in spades tonight. She loved learning new words, if only to throw them in someone's face and make them feel inferior. She, of course, only did so when extremely angry or in jest.

"Immature."

"You are calling me immature! That is laughable after how you treated Sancia!" Smiling and stepping close, he took her face in his hands. She becomes still in his grip. Her iris wide in her oval face.

"Would you like me to be cruel to you as well? You are infuriating me this evening."

She bit her lip, making her terribly irresistible. His lions stirred despite his determined will against it.

"I do not understand why you are cruel to everyone else but me."

"I will tell you if you tell me about these mysterious feelings towards your swine."

"He is not my pig, Cesare," but she was smiling now. Lucrezia loved to share confidences with him. She led him over to the canopied bed and tumbled onto it. After a wistful glance at her stretched out on the bed he joined her.

"You tell me first!" She declared, all giggly and childlike. Adriana had often called her a beam of sunlight. She was that and more. Her manners all spoke of no dark thoughts, even when clouded with sadness she still had an unhealthy amount of arbor. It was this zeal, like the one he occasionally saw in worldly Giulia, altogether of a different sort, which made him love her so ardently.

"I am not cruel to you for one simple reason," he paused, amused at her unwavering curiosity. "I love you."

"That is not a reason."

"It isn't?" He asked this in a scandalous tone, covering his mouth with one hand. She glared, folding her arms and resting her head on them.

"Really?" Her look of uncertainty melted his exterior and he pulled her into his arms, savoring the lavender scent of her perfume as he held her.

"Of course."

"You are mean to Juan."

"That is another love entirely," his heart was beating fast. His heart only ever exerted itself around Lucrezia. This conversation was strange for it was almost as if he was confessing his incestuous thoughts. Of course she took his words innocently, but the last few words held a truth to them he'd never dared to profess before.

She shrugged, looking speculative, "So you do love brother Juan?"

"It is a love and hate thing. More hatred than affection, but that is how it is with rivalry."

"How come you do not with Jofre?"

"Juan is hardly competition, Jofre is wasted effort."

"You are being mean again," but there was great lightness in her tones. "You never speak ill of the Holy Father."

"I do when you are not around. He is incorrigible at times, but he is my equal in intelligence."

"You are so arrogant."

"That is a Borgia."

"Are you saying we are arrogance personified?"

"We Borgia may be as different as night and day, all distinctly unique, but our loyalty and our arrogance are what ties us together."

"I believe in familial loyalty," her lips twitched into a smile more radiant than any Helen bestowed on Paris. He knew why Paris would risk the threat of a thousand ships if she was as beautiful as his Lucrezia.

"As do I. Why speak ill of the Holy Father when it is from him all our good fortune springs?"

"You speak like an Orsini or Colonna," she said, scrunching up her face distastefully. "Sometimes I think you only use Father for his political influence."

"I am not so heartless," he said, slightly surprised at her words. Did he really come off as such a weak willed man? "I use no one. When I decide to wrestle with evasive fortune I will become Captain General, sister, and I will not rest on Father's laurels."

"You strive for Juan's position," she met his eyes with some unreadable expression.

"Why not? Juan isn't suited to be a solider, which must be obvious even to you. I, on the other hand, should not wear these insufferable robes!"

"The robes of a cardinal are a great honor, Cesare, and lead to greater things if you would only see that. I also happen to think red looks fashionably on you," she played with his doublet, eyes pleading.

"I prefer black," he pushed her hand away, crossing his arms.

"One day you will do great things—"

"Not as Pope."

"Why not? It is—."

"Hypocritical and nothing more. I will not live a life untrue to myself. I refuse. I obey Father at the moment because no other option is open to me, but mark me I will one day find a way out. Father may enjoy the pious Pope he plays, but I would rather fall on my own sword."

"You'll be great one day," she sat up and smoothed his auburn hair from his face. "Do not detest Father for what he could not change."

"He could have if he'd only bothered to see Juan and me for what we actually are."

"You ask him now when Juan is already Duke of Gandia and you a cardinal?"

"I will not stop asking until he sees his error. Stubborn man doesn't see what the entire world sees."

"What do they see?"

"That Juan is making a fool of us all!"

"You are cruel!" Her hand on his cheeks ceased further words. Her hands were smooth lavender scented bliss. He kissed them feverishly, trying desperately to rid himself of jealousy. Jealousy had marred the whole course of his life. He'd felt its ugly touch even when young. He remembered his youth quarreling with Juan over who 'Uncle' Rodrigo loved best and when Lucrezia had been born he'd been overwhelmed with jealousy whenever anyone did anything with her.

"I know you envy Juan, but do not. He is not worth the effort as you are always saying."

"He wouldn't if Pedro Luis had lived."

"Then you would have always envied Pedro."

"At least Pedro was not a drunkard, womanizing squanderer!"

"Cesare..."

"Unkind but true. He left you a nice dowry and gave Juan the Duchy. What did I get?"

"You were not alone, Jofre got nothing too. You were already on your way into the priesthood and Father could not have changed your position."

"If he had wanted to," he paused, seeing Lucrezia's distressed expression. "Never mind this talk. I grow tired of it too."

One of her slender fingers twirled his hair, but her face stayed down. He gave her shoulder a squeeze. The feel of her skin beneath his touch, even just her shoulder, was damnably delightful.

"You are not the only person in this family who is put in a terrible position," she said softly and the choking sound she gave was not to his liking. "You act as if being a cardinal, and maybe someday Pope, is the worse fate imaginable. It is not. Being a woman is. I must obey and the things I am told to do and say and be for this family is far worse than donning the red!"

"Oh, I have minor complaints compared to you. It is you who was made to marry that…" He grudgingly suppressed his next words, knowing that vulgarity was not becoming a man of his rank and in front of his innocent sister. Her tears, gliding somehow elegantly down her pale cheeks, were wiped away with a swipe of her sleeve. He wondered as she blew her reddening nose how she could be beautiful even in disarray. Love did strange things to a man's sensibilities. Any other woman would have disgusted him in this state.

"Let us take comfort in each other." Her head unexpectedly nestled into his doublet as her petite hands clung on his shoulders. He swallowed, wrapping his arms tightly about her waist. The last time he'd held her had been days before her marriage to Giovanni. She had been crying as she was now and begging him to ask Father to reconsider his decision. Her waist had hardly widened, he noted with pleasure, though the rest of her had filled in nicely. Her breasts were lovely sized melons that he'd noticed other men were aware of. Had not Ascanio, though Sforza's cousin, looked at Lucrezia with interest upon her last return from Pesaro?

He longed to kiss her lips which whispered hastily against his doublet of her feelings. He desired to close any distance between their bodies, to caress her heaving chest, and part her milky thighs. He could not remember when, or if, his thoughts had ever been solely brotherly, though he pretended it well enough. It was hard to analyze his feelings when they centered on Lucrezia. She inspired more passionate feelings in his body than any courtesan and ten times more emotional attachment than anything else in his life. He had never lacked courage until he'd thought of seducing his own blood. If he did not fear losing Lucrezia he would have ventured into incestuous territory by now.

The knock upon Lucrezia's door did not give them enough time to rearrange themselves before Rodrigo Borgia entered. He paused at the threshold to survey her position in his lap and her face buried against his chest, met his son's inscrutable gaze, and went without word to the heath. He stood in silence with his back to them.

"I was not aware you wished to speak with me, Your Holiness," Lucrezia's voice was more composed than her face.

"I did not come here for you, child. Sancia made mention of Cesare visiting you and I thought to come here and see for myself."

"Sancia speaks to you regularly, Your Holiness," he was acutely aware, more than Lucrezia was, that Alexander's words held an underlying meaning. Why would a father need to see the interaction between two of his children? Had Sancia implied something to Alexander? It was not unthinkable as Sancia was extremely libertine.

"She speaks to us when it matters, son," his words, usually affectionate when addressing him by relation, were far removed from joviality.

"Cesare was just helping me," Lucrezia was aware of the tension, if not the reason for it.

"How so?"

"He was comforting me. I'm afraid I got upset over talk of Giovanni. Your Holiness was aware of who was jeering the loudest I presume." Her cordial words could have easily flown from Cesare's lips in one of his fits.

"Your brother is corrupting you, dearest daughter," he said, but his words lacked the rigid tones of a minute ago. "Let us not dwell on old garbage like Sforza. I did come here with a purpose. In fact it involves the two of you, though I hesitated at first to include you, Lucrezia."

"What of importance involves the two of us?" Her confusion was evident.

"Indeed, Your Holiness, I think it better you do as you first intended. Lucrezia is a child, you know."

"Lucrezia bridles at such insult as a true Borgia should," her annoyed look in his direction was not lost on him. "She has not been a child since her consummation. It is in fact to do with that very thing I am here."

"You need not―."

"Let me finish!" Alexander rarely yelled unless it was in humor. Cesare's protest yielded to the wishes of his father. "Giovanni Sforza is one enemy we have overlooked. His position and influence was gratefully not the part about him we need to fear. As Pope our position is solid in the game of politics, but we do need to fear certain things. Our reputation is not above reproach."

"I do not understand."

"I mean to imply that Sforza has taken to piecing words since his sword is too dull to cut the bull's neck."

"He's a gossip monger now? What fear is there to be had in that?"

"People listen to rumors, Cesare, if only for a laugh. If rumors persist overlong then they gain undue creditability."

"I see. What is he spreading about in Pesaro?"

"It is not only in Pesaro, if that were so who would believe? He has his relations in Milan who he writes to and others. He is spreading this…fifth to any ear that will give him the time."

"What vileness?"

"I dare not say it aloud, for to say this would bring Satan's evil clutches close."

"Come now, Father, we speak of murder aloud," he regretted his words when he saw Lucrezia's unease.

"Is it so terrible an offense? Has he been speaking of," she paused briefly before gaining courage and finishing. "Michelotto's deeds for the family?" He stared at her, somewhat surprised she even knew about Michelotto's deeds. He reminded himself Lucrezia, innocent in her own character, was not blind to the actions of others.

"No, if it were that they'd be overlooked by enemies. It is a crime few would do for fear of condemnation. God forgives all sinners, who truthfully repent, even murderers, but this…"

"What is worse than murder?"

"God created Adam in his likeness," Rodrigo scratched at his chin hair as he spoke. "From Adam he plucked a rib and made his partner. Eve picked the fruit. She was tricked as women are easy to deceive," here Lucrezia scowled, but did not protest. He was trying to make a point. "And thus not wholly to blame for her action. Satan is a powerful foe, particularly when temptation is all around and sin of the flesh is pleasurable. Satan is a worthy enemy who gets the better of all of us, but we must not succumb to his ploys."

"I did not follow."

"Adam and Eve were, in essence, brother and sister."

"And?"

"Is that what Giovanni says?"

"He also makes other claims. It was God who fashioned humans and impregnated Mary."

"I do not understand. What do God and Mary have to do with us?"

"Oh, Lucrezia, can you be so ignorant!" He leapt from the bed and went to stand at the window. It was too dark outside to see, but he preferred the blackness of the landscape to the naivety of his sister's face. Her sweet manner usually stimulated him, but it was quickly becoming frustrating.

"Lucrezia, let's not be like Juan," Rodrigo's smile was tender as he spoke of his favorite child. He went over and took Cesare's vacated seat beside her. She pressed her hands into the folds of her gown as her father regarded her thoughtfully. "Sin of the flesh, my little one, and family. Think on it. What interest could be aroused?" She stood suddenly and went to the vanity, her hand over her mouth.

"Giovanni," her voice cracked and Cesare closed his eyes, willing himself away from this scene. "Giovanni said this?"

"I have reports saying it was him, no doubt over our claims against him regarding his manhood," he chuckled at his own words, bobbling his head sagely. "He began them about you and me and has recently begun including Juan and Cesare. For some reason he speaks not of Jofre, I suppose he forgets that Jofre exists. It is not a hard thing to do."

"God willing Giovanni Sforza did not exist!" Cesare snapped, glaring into the bleakness out the window and wishing he'd killed the man when he'd had the chance.

"I can't believe Giovanni has done this! I was ever the endearing wife and did everything for him when he was a brute!" Lucrezia, fuming, hadn't thought to temper her words.

"A brute?" Rodrigo looked momentarily put out, mouth opening and closing like a fish as he stared at his precious little girl. "How dare he set any unkind hand upon my daughter. I will flog the man!"

"He was ungallant?" He went to where she stood and examined her face for fear that the man's cruel touch still lingered.

"You two exaggerate, I spoke in haste."

"You spoke truth in haste, sister, nothing else," he frowned, wondering why she had not spoken up during her marriage. "All this time you could have said, "Cesare, Giovanni is too rough." Why did you not say a thing?"

"We needed the alliance," tears were in her eyes now.

"We did not need the alliance so badly that a member of this family need suffer!" Rodrigo was standing now too, looking forlorn and thunderous.

"Jofre is married to Sancia, Juan to Maria, and Cesare to the Church and now you say none need suffer!"

"I will not hear this!" Rodrigo stalked to the door, "No one speaks to the Pope in this manner!" They could hear his shuffling down the hall as neither of them moved.

Lucrezia met his eye wearily, her age suddenly upon her face and being. She was no longer his bright beam of sunlight, but a fragile flame surrounded by ebony. He held her quivering body up as she sunk her nails into his arm and shook with shuttering sobs. How many times would she cry today? How many times had she cried at night without his knowing? Without his being able to comfort her?

"God help us we have all been blind to your pain," he rubbed her back and smoothed her messy hair. "We never meant for you to suffer. Father would have done something if he'd known and you know I am not so unhappy with the Church and Juan has other frivolous pursuits which he would partake of even if married to someone prettier than Maria. Jofre is content in his marriage."

"You lie so easily, Cesare, it is a small wonder you will do great things. Important people always lie the easiest." Her eyes were puffy and the hair coming loose into her face did not help her appearance.

He smiled, "Do not believe any of that then, but believe this for it is no lie. Your beauty will draw to you another and that alone will get you a better husband than that pig. Your intelligence, of course, will win him over."

"You gloss over my terrible appearance," she smiled and her light was back. He held her close a moment longer, knowing that Rodrigo would soon see all visits alone were nixed. He kissed her forehead, gave her hand a kiss and squeeze, and left to return to the Vatican.


	5. Chapter 5

Historically Giulia Farnese was six years older than Lucrezia and the two lived together first in the Orsini Palace and then in Santa Maria. Yes, Juan supposedly did all those things in Spain and Cesare and the Pope both wrote letters reprimanding him for it.

* * *

><p>Giulia Farnese fanned herself with her handkerchief, staring lazily at the green grapes upon Lucrezia's table with contempt. She preferred red grapes. She would inform Lucrezia of this.<p>

Adriana De Mila was lecturing the Pope's daughter. Giulia could see Adriana's furious expression and Lucrezia's downcast eyes and shoulders from here. She glanced at the she-devil sitting to her left. Sancia was listless today, her unnatural buoyance all but gone as she stared at her nails.

She frowned and then remembered that frowning left wrinkles in old age and put a smile on. Smiles at least were pretty. Rodrigo always praised her smiles.

"What do you have planned for this evening, Sancia?" If one wanted marriage gossip one went to Adriana, diplomatic news to Giulia, and fornication tidbits were Sancia's specialty.

"I've little planned, Juan perhaps," Sancia said dismissively. "I also heard Ascanio is bedding Maria."

"Maria who?" She knew Sancia was referring to Ascanio Sforza.

"Wouldn't you like to know," there was Sancia's cattiness once more. Lucrezia sat down, her poise lacking entirely as she stared into the fire. What was wrong with everyone these days? Sancia's own listlessness returned as silence came between them.

"Anyone wish to alleviate this quiet?" When they just looked at her, she folded her hands into her lap and said crossly, "Care to inform me what has you both and Adriana so ill disposed?"

"Different things I'm sure."

"Family concerns for Sancia I think," Lucrezia's glance at Sancia and her discomfort was apparent. Tactfully she didn't press further, "My own concerns have to do with former relations."

"Giovanni?"

"It would seem is not done with me yet."

"He is a mean little man, isn't he," she recalled Giovanni's unattractive face. He had always been polite and appropriate, she could not fault him for that, but something of his character had always irked her.

"He spreads gossip more liberally than Sancia her legs."

"What does he say?"

"Things that should not happen between a father and daughter."

"Ew," Sancia said.

"Incest? That is an outright lie for two reasons. I know you rarely are unaccompanied in some form or another, even at night your room is guarded and secondly I'm with the Pope myself."

"Again disgusting. I mean no offense, but that is one Borgia that does not appeal to me."

"Incest is not the problem, but my father?" Lucrezia's stunned look at Sancia was amusing.

"Incest can be quite delectable, but Alexander is rather too old for even me."

"I do not want to know why you think incest is delectable," Giulia laughed humorously.

"Giovanni has said the incest involves Juan and Cesare too." Both women exchanged thoughtfully glances.

"As perverted as Juan can be, and that is delightfully so, I do not think he is inclined. He prefers risky sort of woman, which you are not."

"I suppose the relationship has taboo appeal but you make a valid point. Juan is in love with Sancia's loose immoral personality. Sometimes I think he'd be more delighted if there were two of himself."

Sancia laughed as Giulia giggled. Lucrezia smiled, but she was aware that neither woman touched on Cesare.

Later as Lucrezia and Sancia settled onto her bed and Sancia unwrapped her hair and brushed it the earlier conversation, which had rattled in her brain all evening, resurfaced. Finally alone with Sancia she could probe the subject.

"Is it true that you've committed incest, Sancia?"

"I am many things, but not a lair."

"Who?" Sancia was silent. "Was that the reason you got so defensive at Cesare when he spoke of Ferrante?"

"No. Grandfather's pastime is one thing to talk about and another to see as a child." Sancia's hand yanked the brush harder than was necessary through her locks. She winced. Sancia noticed the pain she was causing and eased her strokes.

"Was it one of your brothers? Or your sister?" She added the sister part only because she knew Sancia's morality in bed was frighteningly lax.

"I've several brothers and one sister. Guess."

"I do not like games."

"You are so childlike you should. Please guess. I'll give you my favorite necklace if you guess correctly."

"I barely remember their names."

"Ferdinand, Isabella, Piero, and Alfonso respectively with me being before Alfonso."

"Alfonso then."

"You gave it little thought."

"A younger brother is more palatable."

Sancia laughed, "Wicked sister-in-law."

"Was it?"

"It was."

"How?"

"Why are you so curious?" Sancia enjoyed teasing in speech as well as when flirting.

"I merely wonder how obscene action occurs. I partake in few things that are not appropriate."

Sancia's expression was thoughtful. "Alfonso is a year younger than you. He was very fine when he was young. I do not really know why or how it began. One day Alfonso simply asked me if I'd show him my breasts and I did. After that who can say?"

"How old where you?"

"Thirteen. Alfonso was ten. We lived in Naples; there exists one of the most licentious courts as you know. I am not a good Christian in regards to sexual exploits, but I find nothing sinful in blissful union between two willing partners."

"I suppose children are to be forgiven."

"I was no child then."

"Alfonso was."

"I am sure you are right."

"Did you consummate?"

"We touched and took pleasure, but did not go further. I became enamored of another and left him. He was not too displeased I think. He grew out of it."

"Most people do not tally long under sister and mother's skirts."

"Except Cesare."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing."

"You lie. What do you mean? We are Borgia and family is everything. Is it so odd that he should prefer his family to others?"

"You mistake my meaning. Cesare is merely fond to the point it could be looked at strangely by outsiders."

Lucrezia waved a hand in the direction of the door, "I am tired."

"You asked and I spoke. Do not punish the messenger of truth; it is not always as glimmering as a jewel."

She lay a long time, thinking over the conversation. Was Sancia implying what she thought she was?

* * *

><p>"Your Holiness," Rodrigo nodded at her, looking every inch the Pope in his vestments. He turned to Ascanio and laughed at whatever the man said. Lucrezia, done with her formal greeting, moved to the back of the feast.<p>

She watched the dancing girls, dressed in bright greens, sky blues, and earthy tones. They were entertaining even to someone like her who took no sexual pleasure from the sight. They would clasp hands and twirl around, weaving between the occasional guests.

She found Cesare, sipping from a goblet, in the corner with Michelotto. He was rarely without his shadow these days. A pretty redhead was talking to him, her ringed fingers playing with the stem of her goblet and then the sparkling jewels at her throat. She at least had fashion sense Lucrezia thought, though Cesare didn't usually bother with meticulously dressed women. He would probably spend all evening with the lady and then retire alone or with a courtesan. Cesare often complained that well-dressed woman weren't obliging enough.

She yelped when Juan appeared behind her.

"Did I frighten you sister?" His absence in Spain had changed him. Three years didn't seem a long time, but Juan was altogether different. When Juan had first left for Spain she'd felt badly for him; he'd been sent off to be married to a woman who was ugly and to be in a country without any family. It had depressed her thinking about it and she could only imagine the experience. Now that he was home she wished he'd leave again.

Juan had never been her favorite brother for many reasons, most of all because Cesare was, but he'd been relegated to her least favorite because of his personality. Three of Juan's qualities had irked her growing up and it seemed they had only gotten worse during his time away. She could remember every time she'd played chess with Juan as children and he'd get angry at her terrible moves and pick up a handful of the pieces and cruelly bombard her with them. His arrogance coupled with his ideas of his own grandeur expressed itself in odd ways; his speech when addressing anyone of importance was often condescending to the point that it made Juan seem dimwitted and more foolish than the one he was speaking to.

Every score where Juan failed epically, she thought all of a sudden, Cesare conquered with tact. Cesare was confident, which was always a good quality of someone of importance, but without the haughty airs that lingered so easily on Juan. She found that Cesare could be humble and proud all in tandem; how he managed it was beyond her but it fascinated her to no end. Juan was unduly cruel; Cesare was never cruel unless expedience made him. Cesare's ideas of grandeur did not rest entirely on his own image. Of course Cesare wanted to be a great solider, but he viewed the whole picture of a united Papal State. The conquering was more important than the conqueror. Juan would have given up any such dreams of greatness if it meant his place as a person of worth was established without it. Juan wanted to pretend at greatness without any real effort at it while Cesare yearned to do great things and be praised after for them.

"How are you, Juan?" She may not have liked Juan as a person, but her heart still went out to him because he was family.

"Good, but I'd be better if I knew where Sancia was. Have you seen her?"

"I believe I saw her leave with a solider."

There was one key feature of Juan's which Cesare lacked; Juan's buoyancy was as renowned as Sancia's whoring. Instead of simmering underneath the surface and appearing calm and calculating like Cesare, Juan laughed and brushed aside the insult. Few things ever bothered Juan for long; sexual obscenity was one of those things he enjoyed rather than condemned.

"That ruins my plans, but I'll just go to the brothel. Is that Cesare over there? Michelotto looks put out and is Cesare glaring?"

One of those few things that bothered Juan was Cesare getting anything over him. It had been that way since childhood. Cesare had craved Rodrigo affection, but had been spurned in favor of Juan. Why Rodrigo loved Juan over all of them was a mystery to many people. To Lucrezia it was easy to understand. Rodrigo disliked spending too much time with Cesare for the simple fact he was too much like himself. Juan was more like their mother, though she had to admit Juan was more his own character than anything else.

"Cesare isn't glaring," she put in, noticing his somber expression and his quick words. Cesare was scheming, but then again whenever he spoke to Michelotto he gave the appearance of plotting whether he was or not.

"Cesare scares everyone with that face," He laughed and Lucrezia was quick to notice the sound was more grating than last time. Juan was the hopeless deer to Cesare's hunter. "I think I'll go to that brothel now. Good night sister."

She was grateful when he was gone. She felt like she could breathe again. Juan was not terrible to be around when it was just him if only because they were family and he didn't dislike her, but add Cesare and she was set on nettles.

It was getting late and by now she usually retired. She left the confines of the Vatican to return to Santa Maria. She loved the palace, it was more to her liking than the fresco covered walls of the Vatican and she was free to act as she pleased within reason.

She was ascending the steps when she heard sharp footsteps behind her. She froze, paralyzed with sudden fear. Surely no Orsini or Colonna was fool enough to attack the Pope's very daughter? She didn't show her face in the Vatican as often as Giulia or Sancia so whoever was running up to her might not realize she was the Pope's daughter. She swung around as the person's steps echoed just behind her and prepared to scream. She was surprised to find Cesare. He wasn't even remotely winded as he smiled and looped their arms.

"I thought Father had ordered you to keep a distance because of Giovanni's rumors," she inquired, pleased with the pressure of his arm on hers and the musky scent he gave off. He was a real man in comparison to Giovanni.

"He did, but occasionally I disobey. Do not look glum, I will merely tell him if we are caught together that it slipped by my mind after consuming too much wine."

"You are far from drunk."

"He won't notice."

"He'll be angry."

"I can handle His Holiness' anger thank you very much. Are you not happy to be around me? Do you prefer Juan?"

"Juan is neither here nor there and…oh, Cesare, you are your own worst enemy."

"And Juan's dabbling his." She'd been informed of Juan's ill behavior in Spain. Rumors abounded that Juan had gone out nearly every night; killing cats and dogs on his way to brothels and gambling until sunrise. He had not even bothering to consummate his own marriage they said. Thankfully the non-consummation of his marriage had at least been a lie. Maria was heavy with child at the moment and wrote letters begging him to return to her in Spain. It was unlikely he would return to Spain, he was having too much fun with Sancia and Roman whores to want to go back. His behavior had only worsened once he returned, much to Alexander's mortification and Cesare's secret delight. Cesare was hoping Alexander would see what a useless son Juan was.

"Let us not linger on Juan."

"I do sometimes think you prefer his company."

"I do not. Juan is bothersome. You only annoy me half as much as he does," she smiled, squeezing his arm. He'd grown so strong.

He smiled, pleased with her response. Santa Maria was conspicuously empty at this hour. She loved the way the place was ominous at night, a vast difference from the gaiety and noise of the day.

"I love this quiet," she whispered softly, leaning closer to him, feeling a draft of cool air.

He laughed, "Your senses are betrayed by your own desire for ghosts, Lucrezia."

"I don't believe in ghosts, not truly, but I find the thought endearing. Perhaps a servant died in that very spot," she pointed to an open doorway, "Oh, the possibilities."

"I doubt it very much. Strange ideas find purchase in head's that lack thought."

She scowled at him; he was too realistic for his own good. "I like to imagine what people before us did."

"I'm too busy being concerned with what people around us do. Think instead of assassin's in the night; that is far more likely than ghosts."

"In Santa Maria never!"

"One can't be too careful," a sudden noise to their right made Lucrezia jump. Cesare scoffed, "Ghosts or mortal men?"

"Which is scarier?" She cowered behind him in mock fear, fists bunching up his doublet. The strong muscle in his back flexed beneath her fists, curiously arousing her and making her nervous as well. She told herself the arousal was stemmed from her lack of male company and Cesare's built body and handsome features; Giovanni had never been inspiring physically or in bed.

Her nervous response was because Cesare was taking this far more seriously than she's expected. Was an assassin a likely culprit? They did have enemies, but enemies that would penetrate Santa Maria and for what purpose? To kill her or someone in her household seemed unlikely. If they wanted the Pope was it not better to go directly after him?

"Cesare?"

"Quiet."

"You are frightening me."

He turned around and took her shoulders into the crushing iron strength of his arms. "Trust me, Lucrezia. Smile." She feigned a smile as on the inside her stomach was jumping and her heart was pounding. Whether her emotions came from arousal or fear she was not sure. Cesare was dangerously close, his breath swishing into her face as he stared at her intently. The inky surroundings and lack of light made it hard to see well, but she could make out the shape of his face and could see his eyes. Why did he have to look at her like this? She hated this look of his more than anything else in the world. It always bothered her in a way more reminiscent of Sancia than her own well cultivated manner. She hated feeling like a common whore.

He let her go in the next instance and moved towards the doorway she had pointed out earlier as the place a servant must have died at. Her throat tightened painfully. She clutched his hand as his other settled onto his dagger. He kicked the door open. Lucrezia fainted as a masked man wearing all black appeared and brandished a dagger. She hoped Cesare was as skilled as he was suppose to be before she passed out.

"God damn it, Michelotto, you weren't suppose to scare her into a faint!" Cesare snapped, sliding his dagger back into its sheath as he regarded Lucrezia's form. "Let's hope she didn't hit her head." He picked her up gently by the neck, examining for any bruising with his fingers and searching for blood.

"I wasn't aware she was so frightful a creature," Michelotto mumbled, putting his dagger away and tearing the hot mask of. "I was expecting more poise from her."

"Lucrezia is still a child," Cesare lifted her into his arms. "I must carry her the rest of the way now. Thank you, Michelotto."

"What will you tell her when she awakes?" Michelotto slowed his long stride to keep up with his master's progress.

"She will be indignant if I tell her it was all a farce now. If she hadn't fainted she might have taken the jest better."

"It was my fault."

"Yes, it was."

"Would you like me to carry her?"

Cesare pondered for a moment before glaring at Michelotto, "I would rather not give you the chance of groping her."

His longtime companion laughed; this sound was one few people had ever heard outside of Cesare and Miguel's family. Michelotto had few close friends due to his profession. In Cesare's mind Miguel de Corella, known to the general populous as Michelotto, was more his brother than Jofre or Juan.

They walked in companionable silence to Lucrezia's apartment. Michelotto followed closely behind, acting the part of Cesare's shadow people so frequently called him. He set her upon the bed and had Michelotto fetch the smelling salts.

He lay for a long moment admiring her face. The smooth brow was touched carelessly by wisps of gold, the sparkling eyes hid out of sight, the oval shape of her face pleasing, and the well cut nose was small and thankfully in no way resembled what he'd heard Juan's wife had. It all begged to be kissed in adoration of its beauty.

Michelotto, standing reservedly off to the side, had never had any moral unrest in his being at the thought that his mastered stared too lovely at his sister. He waited with salt in hand for Cesare to beckon him over. His morals, such as they were, did not pertain to love, no matter the form. He would have still followed Cesare into hell even if his preference was that of children or men.

His morals were what he supposed some would call flimsy; he was not a Christian in the literal sense. He believed he did God's work as an assassin and military man; God fashioned men and gave them longings for a reason and Michelotto saw no need to restrict any action. He opposed few things in life because of his understanding of the world. He could see the necessity of killing and felt God's hand in death more than anywhere else. Love was the invocation of life and death the benediction.

"Michelotto," Cesare said, waving him over. He handed him the salt. Cesare waved it over her nose and she sneezed all over him. "Lucrezia, you just…it's all over me!"

"What happened with the man?" Lucrezia looked between the two men frightfully, "Did Michelotto dump his body into the Tiber already? Did I miss it?"

"Lucrezia!" Ignoring his scandalized look she examined Michelotto's outfit and saw the mask in his hand.

"You fiend!" She smacked him on the head, knocking his hat off in her fury as her ineffective fists hit repeatedly his head and face. Michelotto wordlessly picked up the cap and tucked it into his cloak for safe keeping.

"Enough, sister," Cesare whined, getting sick of her fury.

"I should take my nails and pierce her handsome face! No woman would look at you the same way again!"

"Do it then if your fury at a little jest is so great." Her hands settled to smoothing her ruffle gown. "Are you done?"

"For now. That was really low of you; I was scared for you. I thought that assassin is going to kill my poor brother and he will die a cardinal! What talent wasted!"

"Talent in plenty with little use. It is wasted already."

"Good, you deserve to die a cardinal after that trick! Is that why you were speaking so secretively with Michelotto this evening? I swear half the court thought you were about to order someone's execution."

"Who would I have wanted dead, since you know so much about the Tiber and Michelotto?"

"Well, Juan of course, but that is not my point."

"You are being deliberately cruel."

"You deserve it. I am glad Juan will be made Captain General."

"You minx!"

"Sancia isn't here."

"You know I refer to you. Sancia is more lynx; you clearly are cleverly deceiving everyone by pretense."

"You are the cruel jester here, not I. Apologize!"

"I will do no such thing." Michelotto was keenly aware that two stubborn Borgia would never compromise to each other when it came to apologizing, especially when they thought they didn't need to. How frustrating. He hinted with nonchalance to Cesare that spending all evening with Lucrezia, as pleasant as she was, would not get much accomplished for Rodrigo.

"Father wants you to murder someone?" Lucrezia looked aghast, her red lips parted speculatively, "May I accompany you?"

"No and no."

"Please."

"No."

* * *

><p>Lucrezia yawned, shifting in the warm blankets, eyes still closed though she knew sunlight moved beyond. She threw the blanket off one overly warm shoulder and lay, staring at the ornate ceiling. She was still angry with Cesare for last night, but resolved not to hint at it to Giulia, Adriana, or Sancia. One way or another it would reach the Pope and Lucrezia didn't want him to know they'd been alone together. She wasn't angry enough at Cesare to get him lectured by Alexander. Everyone knew the Pope had a way of making an ant hill into a mole mound.<p>

When she finally decided she should get up she did so reluctantly. The sheets were warm and thoughts of Cesare with that intense look and her hands on his back kept her wanting to never rise and face the day. Dreams seemed better than reality at times.

She was surprised to find a box with a note sitting on her vanity. She rushed over and snatched the note. Her squeal could be heard from the ladies who peeked in to make sure she was safe. She dismissed the woman and heard her complaining about how Lucrezia was still a child.

The remark about her being childish didn't diminish her good mood. She opened the box and was giggling and squealing all over again. The sapphire and pearl necklace was lovely and would go wonderfully with one of her gowns.

* * *

><p>She hummed as she stitched. Giulia and Sancia exchanged knowing looks. The last time she'd been in such a good mood had been because Giovanni had fled back to Pesaro.<p>

"Lucrezia," Sancia sang, grabbing her arm. "Is there a lover you haven't mentioned?"

"What?"

"Or did you merely bed a man? It is so hard to tell with you."

Her face went red, a dark contrast against her light skin and hair.

"Now, now, Sancia, do not scary her off. Come, we are curious. You are seldom in this high of spirit. What has provoked such joy?"

"I should not tell you two. It will get back to Father, but I do so long to tell someone."

"I promise not to tell Alexander," Sancia swore, glancing at Giulia.

"I will not speak of it to His Beatitude unless important."

"What is important enough for His Holiness?"

"She won't tell so please inform us. I have been dying all afternoon and now Adriana is blissfully absence. You must hurry before she returns." Lucrezia, ever desiring to please others, caved to their demands.

"This necklace I'm wearing today was a gift from Cesare."

"It is pretty. I complimented it when you came in."

"Why do you care if your brother gave you a necklace?"

"Sancia you do not understand. It is the fact Juan and Jofre never give me pretty things unless I beg. It is a token of brotherly affection."

"It's more something a lover gives," Sancia said dismissively.

"It is perfectly innocent," Giulia intercepted when she saw her uncertain expression. "My brother Alessandro gave me a necklace once."

"Only because you married and it was a wedding gift," Sancia recalled the story of her marriage. Sancia had still been in Naples then, but she'd heard enough complaining about the wedding to remember it.

"Never mind it; I'm sure it was entirely innocent."

"It was his way of apologizing as he doesn't ever do so in words."

"Apologizing for what?" She explained the story, embarrassed as they laughed at her fainting spell. This was the last time she'd tell them anything important.


	6. Chapter 6

Lucrezia hated brushing her own hair. It was long and became easily tangled. It was more manageable when another brushed it. She loved when Giulia brushed it, Sancia could be too rough, but Giulia was ever praising her locks and saying she wished she had them. Sancia was too proud to praise another's beauty when it came to women.

She started when the door to her apartment opened. Cesare pressed a slender finger to his lips and closed the door as quietly as possible. It had been more days then she could count on her hands since they'd been alone together.

"Cesare," he settled on his knees at her feet, smiling appraisingly at her waist length hair.

"How have you been?"

"I've been great. I have not yet thanked you for that gift. The necklace was so beautiful."

"It goes well with that dark navy dress you wear. The Florentine gown."

"I know which one. Should I don it just to show you?" She was all smiles as she flounced over to the wardrobe. He watched her shift through her many gowns, pulling some out only to throw them to the floor. After what seem like forever she returned with the gown under her arm and standing only in her chemise began dressing. He laughed when the gown got caught in the back and would not smooth out for her as she wiggled and yanked on the fabric. He helped her finish dressing and laughed when she stamped her foot in frustration as she searched her jewelry box for the right necklace.

"Perhaps this experience says something of you," he said drily as she settled into his lap and held the two ends of the necklace out for him. He fastened the clip and flattened out the necklace against her collarbone.

"It says I am highly fashionable." He kissed the small of her neck chastely, nuzzling her with his nose.

"You know I already knew what the gown and necklace looked like on you. It wasn't necessary to go through the trouble."

"I do not mind. It will be a hassle I suppose to undress again for bed. You will oblige me by helping."

"I could do that."

"And you will."

"It will raise eyebrows, dear."

"They already believe whatever they please and no one will know."

"Point taken," he gave her waist a light squeeze before placing his hands on his knees.

"You are very touchy tonight," she said appreciatively.

"Is that a good thing?"

"Does my voice not express that it is?"

"It is so hard to tell in a woman. One instant she will praise what you are doing and the next insist you stop."

"Men are similar."

"We are not as bad as that."

"Hah."

"Must I tickle you?"

"Don't," she laid her head onto his chest, closing her eyes. She didn't want to be moved just yet.

"You are being very touchy too."

"I'm lonely, Cesare," her tone was somber.

"You miss that brute?"

"No. I do desire to be intimate, just not with Giovanni. I miss that part of married life. I am at a ripe age and Sancia says I will only get uglier. It is now or never."

"You will not get uglier."

"I will eventually."

"Not for forty years."

"I am already middle age!" He could not protest that because few people lived to be as old as the Pope in the poisoning, dagger wielding world of Rome.

"You will be remarried sooner rather than later."

"But to another like Giovanni!"

"Father is trying to arrange a sound political match and a pleasing one to you."

"So you say."

"I am not Father, my word is good."

"I do not believe you. Can I take a lover, Cesare?" Silence followed her question. She turned her head and met his eye. "Aren't you going to answer?"

"It is not my place."

"But you are my older brother, should you not help?"

"I am under no obligation and besides I do not like the inquiry."

"Why not? I know it is not because pleasure of the flesh is sinful; you would be quite doomed yourself. Tell me why?"

"Take a lover if it pleases you, but do not tell me of it."

"I do not intend to speak of every detail, just like you do not dwell over long on your courtesans."

"Enough," she was surprised at how tense he was. His back was rigid like a pole, his posture perfectly straight. He wouldn't meet her eyes. "Have a care though. It is easy enough for a man to enjoy himself freely, but another thing for a woman. You do not want a child."

"There are drinks."

"Dangerous."

"There are other ways."

"Even more so."

"He can pull o―."

"Stop!" He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before opening them again. "You are my little sister I do not want to know more than I must."

"Juan would listen."

"Do not goad me right now, Lucrezia." She realized she was in unfamiliar ground. She had never made Cesare angry enough to incur his furious diatribe.

"Have I made you so upset?" She asked this tentatively, trying to gauge his facial expression.

"This is talk I do not relish. Let us put it to the past," he nodded his head and she waited patiently as his face softened and relaxed into his usual calm. She leaned against him once more, listening to the beating of his heart. Neither of them spoke or moved for a good time, just nestled into each other.

"I do not really want a lover, Cesare," she whispered. "I only wanted to see your reaction."

"That is the most heartless thing you have ever done to me, even worse than your marriage for I knew you were not happy with that imbecile."

"Why is it as terrible as that?"

"Must I say it?"

"I do not understand."

"You are naïve. You are so guileless. It is intolerable at times. I wish you were more like Sancia." She winced and looked down at her feet. "Not overly sexual like Sancia and Giulia, merely more understanding of things."

"I know many things. I know of murder and poison, the Tiber, and Juan's indecencies and well everything."

"That is all irreverent. You truly are still too young to understand."

"Explain it to me and I will get it," she turned in his arms and met his eyes.

"The problem, Lucrezia, is that you know of things. You've never experience any of it."

"I ask you to take me with."

"A child asks such nonsense."

"Why?"

"Any person who has ever seen another murdered, Lucrezia, wishes never to see that again. A sensible person does not long to see dead bodies. That is why you are childish. You do not understand the weight of things."

"You are cruel."

"I am kind. You do not know the meaning of real cruelty. Real cruelty is rape, murder, torture. Castel Sant'Angelo is prime display for that. Sancia's grandfather's mummy collection is too. Roman politics is unscrupulous, Lucrezia, but that is merely life. You have no experience of anything but pretty things and combing your damn hair!"

"This is why everyone hates you, Cesare; you say things that need not be said."

"They need to be said. All people must grow out of their delusions. You must give up your bloody naivety before it ends you."

"What about yours!" She yelped when his fist tightened around the bottom of her hair and encircled it until it covered his whole arm. She winced; tears swelling the corner of her eyes as his fingers touched the base of her neck.

"You think it delusion, but I will make it reality and when I do what will you say? Will you say I was stupid to pursue my dreams? To hell with you," he yanked violently and she started crying. She clawed at his hand from both sides, digging until she drew blood. His grip was like metal more than flesh and did not loosen. She found herself slammed to the ground and felt his weight settle onto her back.

"Apologize whore!"

"I hate you, Cesare! You are Satan incarnate!"

"You need to be done with your naivety. Best to do it through pain."

"Go ahead, do your worst!" His hand let go of her hair. For a moment there was no noise in the room but just her breathing and sobbing. She could hear him breathing too, faster than ever. She wondered why he'd stopped. Fear gripped her and her heart beat faster. Was her own brother going to harm her? Was he going to show her all those terrible things he'd make mention of?

"One day, Lucrezia, there will be a man and he won't be as kind as me." She was startled when the door slammed shut but also relieved. A small part of her had really believed he'd been about to harm her.

* * *

><p>Cesare frowned, glaring at his hand. The red marks had not hurt much; some of her nails had dug deep enough to draw blood. He glanced at Michelotto. The man's indifferent face was annoying.<p>

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

"What would you have me say?" He wanted to be scolded, to be told that what he had done and thought was monstrous. Michelotto wasn't the person to go to for that. Rodrigo wasn't either. His Father seldom reproached his children for anything, much less for what he'd consider rough housing. Rodrigo hated uncomfortable situations and crying most of all.

"Have you ever raped a woman, Michelotto?"

"No."

"Do you still want to serve me?"

"You raped a woman?" He said nothing in answer, just met Michelotto's unflinching eyes. "I do not object to it."

"You really have no morals, makes you a good assassin, but not a good counselor. I'm leaving."

"Where are you going?"

"Stay here. I'm going to the Borgo."

"I should accompany you."

"Stay. I won't be long. Michelotto," he paused at the door, slipping his gloves on. "I didn't rape anyone."

"That makes life simpler."

"Glad to know you don't care if I'm a monster." He left, black cloak swishing out behind him. Michelotto breathed a sigh of relief; he hadn't believed Cesare had raped anyone.

Cesare halted outside Vannozza's inn, watching the shadows play behind the window and listening to the warm laugher floating from inside. He absorbed all the happy drunkards and women as he walked to the tavern. The man behind the counter eyed his clothing with a strange expression.

"You got ducats?"

"Is Vannozza die Cattanei in?"

"Mrs. Canale is busy, boy." He'd forgotten she'd remarried a Mantuan named Carlo Canale.

"So you say," he smiled benignly. "Can you inform her that a priest and the son of a priest is here to see her?"

"Son of a priest?" He laughed, "Strange way to refer to yourself. You don't look like a priest. You dress in gentlemen's clothing."

"I do prefer secular garb. Can you fetch her?"

"How about another name? I don't think she'll know who you are by that. Half of Christendom can be called that."

"They also call me Marano," he said with a twitch of his lips. Marano meant Jew.

"Wait…are you?"

He smiled, "Am I?"

"Vannozza!" He ran from the room and came back minutes later with his mother. She looked good for her age. It was hard to believe she was fifty something. Her face was not nearly as wrinkled as Alexander's.

"Why are you screaming, Carlos, it's merely Cesare. How are you, son?"

"I have seen better days. How is your business?" He took her arm and led her. She examined his face with those quick eyes of hers as they walked up the stairs and into a more private room.

"It thrives because God is kind."

"Kindness," he smiled derisively. "I think it was you who instilled such sentimentality into Lucrezia."

"You could say she's my daughter."

"Too much of you," he frowned into the fireplace, slipping his gloves off. He hated the sight of his own cruelty. "Am I too much Rodrigo?"

"Cesare," her quiet unnerved him. He realized, given the rumors running rampart because of Giovanni, that she might misinterpret what he was saying. He might as well say it; there was some small truth to the rumors.

"Am I cruel?"

"You ask a biased mother."

"A mother who sees little of my deeds."

"I do not believe you evil."

"You do not know me well then. Even Lucrezia thinks ill of me now."

"Why?"

He couldn't bring himself to turn and face her. He wished he'd not come. Vannozza wasn't the right person for this either. He wished he'd jumped into the Tiber before coming here. What could Vannozza say when she knew so little of his actions?

"I have killed men," he said softly. It had never been his own hand, but he'd ordered it surely enough. "Through dagger and poison I have slain enemies of Alexander, of this family. I never felt any remorse for it."

"You did what you felt you had to. If I was able to be so useful to you children, if I could take away your suffering, like Mary longed to do for Jesus, I would."

"It is a suffering of our own design. Remorse is a strange thing. Lucrezia will not forgive me. I saw the fear in her. I thought to hurt my own blood."

"You did not…"

"I did not, but thinking is half the crime."

"Lucrezia will forgive you; her love for you will make it so. Jesus forgave Judas."

"And could Abel forgive Cain?"

"You speak of terrible things. You covet your brother's titles to such degree that you would kill him?"

"No. He is my brother, but like so many things the thought has occurred to me."

"I will pray for you and Juan."

"I would not harm him. I love him for what he is to me, though I hate him for what he has. He has title, Father's love, and if Alexander can manage it all the glory."

"What did Lucrezia do that angered you?"

"Was there not another motive ascribed to Cain?"

"I do not like this talk."

"My dislike of Juan has long been acknowledged and therefore accepted, but to even whisper of―."

"Please stop."

"Is it so hideous a thought?"

"Does Juan?"

"The rumors say Abel and Adam, but only Cain is guilty of lusting after Aclima."

"And Aclima?"

"Why use pretend names?"

"Well?"

"No. Nothing of Giovanni's imaginings has happened I swear."

Her sigh of relief was evident. She crossed herself, praying before his eyes. He frowned; prayer had never freed him from his temptations. Christianity was nothing more than a farce in his mind; a game used only to acquire power. Once as a child he might have believed in it, if only because so many others did, but as he'd lost his naivety he'd seen the error in it. It was good to appear faithfully to the masses, but nothing else.

"Are you done with that prattle, Mother?"

"What have you done to Lucrezia then?" He explained what had transpired.

"I thought, Mother, for one terrible instant about raping her and saying to hell with the consequences. If I had she really would never forgive me though."

"Then for your soul and hers it is a good thing you did not. Do you not care for salvation?"

"You are trying to turn me away from this intense emotion, this yearning of the flesh, this unceasing devotion to her by calling upon a God as if it matters a wit to me? I could not care less about salvation!"

"I never should have let Rodrigo take you away! It rotted your soul!" She crossed herself again.

He grabbed her shoulders, frowning into her astute face. "You cannot forgive me my sin? Absolve me, Mother."

"You do not want to be absolved! You want to live in your lust, you are only sorry Lucrezia does not return your affection."

He swallowed and clamped down on his frustration. "It is no lie. I do wish that was the case. Is it really so immoral to love another? I've never loved any as I do her."

"It is only lust, Cesare. Lucrezia is a beautiful lady and it speaks well of your judgment concerning woman, but stop this lusting after her. That is unnatural."

"I have tried."

"Not hard enough."

"What would you have me do? Become an eunuch?"

"You once looked at her as a sister. Do so again."

"It is not as easy as that. I never gazed upon her as a sister. I only feigned it." Meeting her bewildered eyes he saw her realization of how deep this went. It was no passing fancy like the courtesans; this was something only God could puck out of a person.

She sighed and her sigh was his as well. "Then you must live with it. You must smother it when it rages too fiercely and content yourself with other women. Above all else you must take action against it."

"How?"

"Make certain there is no cause for it to grow and eventually it will writher."

"Speaks one with experience?"

"Do you understand what I am saying, Cesare?"

"I must never, for her sake, be in a situation alone with her again."

"There are only two paths open to you, son, and both end in a hell of a different making."

"An elegant way to put it," he embraced her tightly, wishing he was a child again and all thoughts of sin were banished from his mind. "I am sorry." Cesare Borgia was not known for apologizing. He let her go and saw the tears in her eyes.

"I only wish life had been kinder to you. I should apologize for I borne her as your sister. I will pray for you."

"Thank you, Mother."

"God bless you, Cesare." The walk back to the Vatican was dark, most people would find it either depressing or frightful; he found he enjoyed forgetting who he was in the inky blackness of night. After that he started wearing black in almost every outfit.

* * *

><p>"Giovanni should stay in Pesaro for his own good," Alexander said, patting her knee and smiling.<p>

"Father has a point. He won't come to Rome for fear of his life."

"What is going on outside?" Lucrezia inquired, all three picking up what sounded like a commotion outside.

"A riot wouldn't surprise me," Cesare concluded.

"Giulia?" Lucrezia approached where Giulia lay on the balcony, her hair wet as she lay in the sun to dry it.

"Lucrezia sit with me. It is a very nice day."

"What is that noise?"

"Who cares?" Giulia stated with all the self-centered confidence she was known for.

"Bride of Christ!" A rock was thrown and struck Giulia on the brow. Lucrezia screamed, taking her friend's arm and helping her inside as the commoner was busy picking up another to hurl. Shouts of "Venus of the Vatican!" and "Pope's Concubine!" followed them inside.

"What the hell?" Alexander took Giulia into his arms as she started crying about the wound and begging him to tell her how bad it was. "It is a mere scratch, love, I promise."

"Bastards," Cesare declared, "how dare they strike at us! I'll send guards to deal with them." He immediately called for guards and sent them out after the little mob growing under the balcony. "I can't believe anyone would attack Santa Maria. Is it safe here for Lucrezia and Giulia anymore?"

"We will torture any who act against our dearest Giulia."

"And Lucrezia."

"Of course," Alexander said absently, holding Giulia's face and examining her scratch. "Let's get the doctor and let him look at this, Bella, it will fade in time."

"Damn her," Cesare snapped. "She makes him forget about you."

"I don't mind his concern. Poor Giulia doesn't deserve to be scorned."

"Don't be afraid," he went to her and took her hand. "Santa Maria will be guarded well and every protection will be given to ensure your safety."

"I believe you."

* * *

><p>Lucrezia sat up, startled by the noise of her door closing. Standing in the doorway was a swaying figure. She lit the candle beside her bed and held it up. Juan swaggered over to the bed and sat at the end of it. She saw the flask in his hand. He took a swig and rubbed his mouth on his sleeve.<p>

"How are you tonight, Lucrezia?" He asked this lightly, his cheerful expression fixed on.

"What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"Why are you here?"

"Am I not allowed to see my sister at this hour?"

"It is late."

"I know, but if I were Cesare it would be fine. Cesare gets everything!"

"What are you going on about," the sleeve of her undergarment had fallen off her shoulder. She slid it back up.

"Cesare is a bastard. I hate him!"

"You shouldn't speak meanly about your brother."

"I don't care. Cesare has done me too many wrongs and I don't suffer being humiliated."

"You should go. Bother Sancia for she enjoys you like this."

"You always loved Cesare best," Juan snapped. "I never cared much for you or him. I liked Sancia," he met her eyes and she could tell he was torn. "Cesare just does things to anger me because he can't stand that I have everything. Now he's taken Sancia."

"Sancia is Jofre's wife; he's more reason for concern."

"Jofre doesn't care for Sancia and Cesare doesn't do it to spite the unknown brother. Damn him." He was standing again, looking vexed.

"Juan, don't hate Cesare. I do not think he entertains Sancia in that manner. He has told me himself and you know he is honest with me."

"Is he really? How can you trust a word that ass says!"

"You are being nonsensical."

"Cesare and Sancia de cambio sucios secretos sobre mí y me llaman tonto a mis espaldas. Sé que esto, Lucrezia, Cesare le gusta mejor me Sancia y sólo desea despertar mi desagrado."

"Slow down and speak Italian please. My Spanish isn't that good."

"I said they exchange secrets and tab me as a fool as they lie together. Cesare loves besting me and Sancia is always taunting me for pleasure."

"Cesare dislikes all the attention you get and he wishes for the military advantages you've gotten from Father, but he wouldn't purposely hurt you."

"You don't know him well."

"He told me so. Stop this. Why don't you leave?"

"What is Juan doing here?" They both started as Cesare appeared in the doorway.

"I came to see my sister. Do you have a problem with that?"

"No," Cesare's glances between the two were speculative.

"Why are you here? Isn't it a little late for you to show your face? Aren't you usually bedded down with a whore by now?"

"I could say the same to you."

"Piss off!"

"Don't fight!"

"Why don't you leave Lucrezia alone and go partake of Jofre's loose wife?"

"I will," Juan slammed the door as he stormed out, a Spanish cuss followed as he nearly fell down. "I'm fine," she heard him yell before his steps turned steadier.

"What is with all these visits tonight?" Lucrezia demanded with a laugh.

"Juan never visits you. Why the sudden change?"

"Drink makes him unstable as you well know and besides I think he wanted someone who cares for him to confide in."

"Juan is a fool."

"I do not desire to have this conversation."

"Father is an idiot for letting him deal with the Orsini, he will blunder and get away unscathed because of Father's love."

"Please…"

"I'll stop."

"What did you want?"

"Black thoughts grip me tonight."

"You've come for solace?"

"I carry a heavy uncertainty ever since the French took me hostage. Mother tried to reassuring me, but in vain. She says I am Rodrigo's, but I am plagued with doubt."

"Who else's could you be?"

"Della Rovere's," he sank into despair on the end of her bed, gripping his head as if it hurt.

"That is impossible."

"They were lovers once."

"It can't be true."

"I do not know what to think anymore."

"Does it matter, darling?" She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing her body against his back. "You are a Borgia and my brother before anything else! Even before a cardinal and a Pope's son. Is that clear?"

"Sweet sister."

"Tell me you believe it."

"I am a Borgia."

"Now go and leave so I can sleep. I am going to look terrible in the morning."


	7. Chapter 7

Sancia paced before the Pope's apartment, waiting for him to emerge anxiously. The last month had been a great toll for her. Lucrezia had been a wreck, weeping suddenly during needlework or when they were idly gossiping. It was clear the rumors and fear for her safety was wearing on her.

"Your Holiness," the Cardinal was saying to Rodrigo when she approached. "Naples would be a good match to think on. Alfonso is young―."

"Your Holiness," she piped up, ignoring the indignant look of the Cardinal. Cesare and Juan were standing right behind the Pope. Juan was giving her one of his smirks, knowing she found his smile irresistible. Cesare looked bored if he appeared to favor any emotion.

Rodrigo gave her a look that said clearly he was not interested in listening to her petty concerns.

"It is important. Lucrezia has retired to San Sisto to wait out the annulment." It was a lie, but Alexander would believe her because of Lucrezia's behavior lately.

"San Sisto," he rubbed his chin in that way of his and nodded his head. If there was anything Rodrigo Borgia disliked it was a crying woman and she'd been a ball of nerves the last few weeks. "That is good. The nuns there are dutiful servants of our Lord. I will write to them to make sure they understand Lucrezia is to be treated well. Why are you delivering this news and not my own daughter?"

"She left this morning."

"This is a formality. If I wanted to I could force her back here, but I won't. Better she stay away, many will think she desires to turn nun," he laughed, "her virtue may yet be restored. Come, Cardinal, what were you saying about this alliance between Alfonso and Lucrezia?"

She watched him walk off with the Cardinal. She ignored Juan's questioning look. Cesare stayed behind with her.

"Something is going on that you aren't saying, Sancia," he was scrutinizing her.

"Ask your sister if you are so curious. I have nothing to do with it."

"But you know."

"I will not speak of it," she met his cold and calculating brown orbs and saw a touch of concern in them. Cesare didn't care for much, but he had a soft spot for Lucrezia.

* * *

><p>Illustrious Daughter,<p>

Do people say that I am both your father and your lover? Let the world, that heap of vermin as ridiculous as they are feeble-minded, believe the most absurd tales about the mighty! You must know that for those destined to dominate others, the ordinary rules of life are turned upside down and duty acquires an entirely new meaning. Good and evil are carried off to a higher, different plane.

His Holiness,

Alexander VI.

Lucrezia, sitting with her knees drawn up, read the letter from Alexander. He'd written to inform her about the family and inquire about her reasons for leaving Rome three days ago. She had written back that her leaving had mostly to do with the rumors. Now he'd written again.

"What does His Holiness say?" Pedro asked as Pantasilea poured some wine.

"Nothing terribly important."

"Do you intend to return?"

"No. Send him my reply. I refuse to return until I am ready."

"Anything else?"

"No."

* * *

><p>"Have you seen your brother," Alexander demanded, pacing the floor of his apartment. "It is not usual for him to stay out. What could be holding him?"<p>

"Juan could have been delayed by an angry husband."

"I believed he was showing some sense of property at first and for the lady's sake decided to remain hidden. Now I doubt that very much. Do you think a husband got to him?" Alexander looked ill and moved heavily to a chair.

"I do not think we should worry. I saw Juan at Vannozza's vineyard in Trastevere. He had a squire and…"

"You pause?"

"There was that masked person with him."

Alexander frowned, pressing a hand to his face, tears springing to his eyes. "Leave me." He found Jofre outside, fiddling with his hat.

"Any news?"

"None yet. I expect we'll start a search for him soon enough." He frowned as he watched Jofre disappear down the hall and decided he'd go out tonight and see if he could find Juan.

* * *

><p>Cesare went into one of Juan's favorite brothels.<p>

"We've much to offer," one woman said, breasts hanging out of her dress. Many woman lay completely naked, body's gleaming in the candle light. He picked up one of the tables, it had fallen for whatever reason, and climbed on top of it. There was a round of laughter from men and women alike, thinking he was going to do something lewd for them.

"I am Cesare Borgia," he proclaimed, meeting the eyes of several customers and whores. "Does anyone here know where my idiotic brother, Juan Borgia might be? His birth name is Giovanni if that helps."

"No idea," someone from the back hollered.

"Why don't you come down, you pretty thing, and entertain me instead!"

He leapt off the table in frustration when he realized no one was going to answer him honestly. All the whores cared about was how finely he was dressed because that meant he'd pay well. The men didn't care about anything but their own gratification. No wonder Juan liked this place.

"I can offer five ducats for any news, no manner how small," he held his purse out to make everyone was aware he had the ducats.

"I saw him in the ghetto," a boy's voice called from the doorway. He ran to the boy, slamming the door shut behind him. He enjoyed whores as much as the next and had on more than one occasion frequented houses of ill repute, but the brothels his brother liked were disgusting and far too seedy for his liking.

"The ghetto? When?"

"Last night."

"Show me where and I'll give you ten ducats." He'd been hopeful for a second that the boy had found Juan alive.

"Piazza della Giudecca is just ahead."

"The Jewish quarter?"

"Yes."

"Here, sir," the boy led him inside a squat little house. Lying on the table, surrounded by the residences, lay Juan's dead squire. He remembered the man had left at Juan's side when they parted at Vannozza's vineyard.

He touched the man's arm, crossing himself, pulled ten ducats out of his coat and instructed the boy to head to the Vatican to inform the guards. He sat on a chair the wife offered, trying to breathe. Who could have done this? It was going to kill Alexander. Juan was dead. He ran a hand through his hair. His brother was dead.

He remembered warm days in Vannozza's house, sitting with Lucrezia and talking about his studies. Juan had always been lurking in the tree above or standing at his feet and declaring he was braver than him. He recounted many times wrestling with Juan in the grass or chasing him through Mother's house. They may have quarreled as adults, they may not have seen eye to eye, but that didn't mean he wanted his brother dead. He swallowed, feeling hot tears come to his eyes.

"Sir," he jumped at the words and met the woman's concerned eye. She was holding a handkerchief out to him. He took it gratefully, pressing it to his face. How was he going to break this news to his Father? Or Lucrezia and Jofre?

"Was he family?" Her dialect was Catalan.

He smiled, switching to Valencian too. "He was not, but the man he was serving is. Are you from Valencia?"

"Yes."

"My Father was born there." He smiled, trying not to think of Juan. "Did the man say anything before he died?"

"He died shortly after we got him in here. We only got one word out of him. He kept saying, Borgia." The boy had heard him say Borgia probably and finding him at the brothel asking for a Borgia he'd brought him here.

"A petty. I would have paid handsomely if he'd spoken about the incident." He stood, pulling off his purse and left it on the table. "For your troubles and for providing me something to report to His Holiness."

He walked into Alexander's apartment to find him weeping, several concerned cardinals huddled about him. "What happened?"

"It was reported that Juan's horse was found near Cardinal Parma's palace. It had only one stirrup, the other had been cut. Then we have a boy who says his squire was found dead in the Piazza della Giudecca."

"Has anyone confirmed the horse story?"

"Yes, but His Holiness gave no orders regarding the Piazza della Giudecca yet."

"There is no need for that. Father?" The Pope lifted his head. "The incident concerning the squire is true. I saw the body myself."

Alarm escalated throughout the Vatican as gossip about the horse and squire spread. Alexander ordered inquiries be made into every inch of Rome.

* * *

><p>"This man knows something?" Alexander inquired.<p>

"My name is Giorgio, Your Holiness."

"Tell His Holiness what you related to me," Cardinal Ascanio Sforza demanded.

"I was passing the night on my boat to guard against timber thieves. She was moored along the bank that runs from the Bridge of Sant'Angelo to the Church of Santa Maria Nuova. It was late, near daybreak. Two men emerged from the street; I think the one alongside the Hospital of San Girolamo. They stood on the spot where refuse is thrown in from carts." He paused to wipe his brow nervously. He was no doubt concerned about how his next words would be perceived.

"On with it."

"I am still getting my ducats, right?"

"You will have half the ducats in the vault of the Vatican if you continue," Ascanio gestured for him to continue.

"What he means is twenty ducats if you finish," Alexander said, shifting uncomfortably because Ascanio's attitude made it plain that what this timber seller was about to say was important. He felt faint. There was only one outcome when it came to the Tiber.

"These men looked about carefully and the beckoned a man on a white horse out. He wore golden spurs, Holiness, I never saw such a thing," he giggled happily, thinking about his ducats. "On the crupper of his horse was the body of a man, his head hanging in one direction and the legs in the other. This body was supported there by two men on foot, who walked on either side of the horseman."

"Did you see any faces?"

"None. It was too dark for that. They went to the edge, turned the horse around, and the two men grabbed the body. They threw it towards the middle, good throw," he winced when he saw the hard looks on the men's faces. "After the splash, the horsemen asked if they'd thrown into the middle and one man said yes. They watched the water, bodies have a habit of not wanting to stay down, and sure enough the cloak floated to the surface. They threw rocks at it and then left as they had come."

"What about their voices? Would you recognize them if you heard them?"

"I don't know."

"Why did you not speak up sooner?"

"I've seen a hundred bodies thrown into the Tiber over my lifetime; no one ever comes asking about them."

"You are certain you saw no faces," Cesare, with arms crossed, demanded sternly.

Giorgio snorted, "I said so didn't I?"

"Don't be imprudent," Ascanio berated, "You don't speak that way to the Pope's son."

"My son," the Pope was brought to tears once more.

Cesare approached Giorgio, "I'll get you the ducats."

"How was it, did the man know anything?" Jofre asked immediately upon his exit, not noticing the timber seller right behind him.

"Why didn't you come to the interrogation if you are so invested in it? God damn it," Cesare looked angry, "He is sobbing like a child rather than a Pope. One would think he could restrain himself until after." Cesare caught the strange look Giorgio was giving Jofre. "This man is in need of twenty ducats. I'll speak to you later," he pulled the ducats from his own purse, watched Jofre walk off, and turned to Giorgio. The man held his hand out expectantly. "Did his voice sound familiar to you?"

"Should it?" Giorgio's frightened voice spoke volumes to Cesare, who knew how to read men.

"He is my brother Jofre. I do not like to think he had a hand in it. Tell me you are certain and you will have double what the Pope promised. If you lie to me I will have you upon the rack."

"I am certain. His voice was distinctive." The two men looked at each other thoughtfully. Giorgio was wondering if the voice was really Jofre's while Cesare speculated on the trustworthiness of his source.

"Take the ducats, but do not doubt I will find out if you lie. Speak of this to no one. If you keep silent I will reward you generously, if not I have my ways."

"My Lord," Giorgio scurried out of the Vatican as if Satan himself was on his heels.

* * *

><p>Fishermen and boatmen, armed with nets, were sent in the hundreds to the Tiber the next day. As the light dwindled and morale waned off Juan's body was hauled up from the bottom of the Tiber. He was dressed and had thirty ducats in his purse, which meant the assassination hadn't been for robbery. His was still tied up and his body was marked by more wounds than fingers on two hands.<p>

Cesare was grateful he didn't get to see the body until after he'd been cleaned and dressed in his funeral clothing. He'd been donned in the garments of Captain General of the Church. Cesare walked beside Sancia and Jofre, wishing Lucrezia was there to give him strength as they passed along Sant'Angelo to Santa Maria del Popolo for his burial. There was no pomp in the occasion, burials seldom were, and all remained gravely silent. Juan lay unmoving on the bier, his body covered in a brocade mantle. Seeing Juan would have been too much. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the first wail come from the Vatican. He clamped down on Sancia's shoulder when she looked close to fainting. Jofre crossed himself.

"Keep moving," he said softly, taking the first step forward as the anguished cries kept on. He was trying not to imagine Alexander withering in pain and crying. He could feel tears spring to his own eyes and fought them off, hand trembling on Sancia's shoulder. She squeezed his hand and once off the bridge they released each other as the cries faded into the background.

* * *

><p>"Is Alexander still shut up in there?"<p>

"Yes," Cardinal of Segovia said, shaking his head. "We have appealed to him to eat and sleep but he outright refuses."

"I should speak to him. Three days like this is too much."

"Do you think he can bear the sight of you?" Segovia was implying that the sight of one of his only remaining children would be too much.

"It is the only option."

"Perhaps you could induce Lucrezia to see him instead?"

"No. I will do this. She doesn't know yet." He was quite stunned at the transformation the apartment had undergone since Juan's death. The curtains, usually left open, were drawn shut, the table, fruit and dish still scattered, lay undisturbed on the floor, and the canopy of the bed was torn into pieces. Alexander lay sprawled on the ground; face down and limbs spread out in a crucified position.

"Rodrigo," He hadn't spoken his Father's true name in years. It was His Holiness this or Holy Father or Our Most Holy Lord that in public. Occasionally in private he referred to him simply as Father. "I did not come here to insist you cease grieving, but I have come here to demand you stop this nonsense. Three days is long enough. Would you not say the same to me if our situation was reversed?"

"What do you know, Cesare?" Alexander screamed, lifting his head but not moving his body. "You have no children!"

"I have plenty. I have fathered for certain three children."

"You have?"

"Girolamo is the eldest and I named my daughter Camilla Lucrezia."

"You never mentioned this."

"They are young. I did not think it important."

"Would you cry if they died?" He glanced away from his father. He barely knew them. Girolamo was staying with the whore he'd fathered him on and Camilla was shut up in a nunnery at the moment.

"I do not know them well, but I knew Juan and I feel your pain. He was my brother."

"You do not feel any pain," he turned his head away. "How can you? You hated him. You always had."

"I did not hate him that much! He was still my blood."

"Lair!"

"Juan and I were close before Pedro died. He and I were in the same boat, me to be a priest and him to be nobody like Jofre. We wrestled, teased, and flirted with the servant girls together." He sat on the chair that was left standing. "I remember how proud Juan was when Pedro died and left the Duchy to him. He was endlessly condescending to me after that. Juan changed and with that change he cast me off."

"You speak ill of your brother now?"

"Why not? Let me finish. As a child I excelled at my studies, which impressed everyone but you. You did not care. Jofre was the youngest so Vannozza loved him best. Lucrezia was the pretty little girl who wooed everyone with a smile and a twirl in her dress. The servants and the workers of the house always regarded me uneasily. No one acknowledged me as worthy of companionship because they didn't know if I belonged to you or not. Still to this day I do not know whose son I am. Am I of the cloth of Domenico d'Arignano, Giuliano della Rovere, or you, Rodrigo Borgia?"

"Domenico d'Arignano never existed. I only made him up to secure you a position in the Church. You couldn't be an illegitimate bastard and become a cardinal so I made up a husband for Vannozza."

This infuriated Cesare because Alexander didn't touch upon Giuliano. "Not going to claim me, even now?"

"You are my son."

"But you don't believe it. It's part of the reason you preferred Juan over me. He was the fragile one you said once, the one who was too incompetent to make anything of himself without help."

"You didn't need me. You are as unyielding as stone; if you desired something you took it. I saw that in you even when you were young."

"I may not have needed your help, but that did not mean I did not need your love." Alexander lifted himself onto his knees and stared at his son with wide eyes. He had never seen Cesare cry.

"I am not as strong as you take me for. I am not heartless. That is why I clung to Lucrezia so for she loved everyone regardless. She understood that I wasn't inhuman. Now I fear no one will weep for me when I die. Will you weep?" Alexander crawled over to him and grabbed him, pressing him close in an embrace they had not shared since he'd been very little.

"I mistook you, Cesare, I did, forgive an old man!" Cesare didn't answer, just buried his head into his shoulder and cried.

* * *

><p>Alexander wrote the letter contained in this story to Lucrezia concerning the rumors of incest between himself and her.<p>

No one is certain about who murdered Juan. The Orsini had motivate as they were upset Juan had been given Benevento and the Pope's designs on the lands between the Papal States and the kingdom of Naples and Ascanio Sforza had only days prior gotten into a fight with Juan. Other suspects include Jofre because of his brother's affair with his wife and there was speculation he was murdered, if not by Jofre, than another angry husband or father. Cesare isn't put up as Juan's murderer until a year after and usually because he gained so much at his brother's demise. Other motivates state he was jealous not only have Juan's titles, which is possible, but also because Juan was screwing Sancia. Others say he was jealous of Juan and Lucrezia. I don't label anyone as the murderer, since historically we have no proof one way or the other, so I don't disclose who I think might have done the deed, though it is telling that Alexander never forgave the Orsini when he was pardoning others for Juan's murder.


	8. Chapter 8

"He adores you, Lady," Pantasilea nudged her. "I swear his eyes never leave you when he brings the letters."

"That is not so," Lucrezia, ever happy to be complimented and finding nuns lacking in them, adored Pantasilea's company. The last couple weeks had been bliss; no court meant no strife. She missed Alexander and Cesare fiercely, but she found San Sisto a haven for the time being. She had all the time in the world to be around her family later, she needed quiet and friendly company now.

Pedro had an aquiline nose which reminded her of Sancia's, warm eyes, and dark slightly curly hair. A great deal of his features reminded her of Cesare. In personality he was entirely the opposite. He was poetic, which Cesare had never liked though he enjoyed word games, and he was remarkably kind and gentle. Yes, he was exactly the opposite of Cesare. She adored him for that.

"He would do anything for you," Pantasilea stated with confidence. "He would defy the Pope to be with you."

"Lea, stop this talk. It is sweet, but things are far too complex. He may say these things, but he does not believe them."

"His devotion goes beyond that of a poet to his muse." She paused, meeting Pantasilea's dark gaze.

"He said that?"

"Assuredly."

"It cannot be."

"It is. Allow him to come to you this night, Lady, and he will speak to you himself of his love."

She lay in bed that night, thinking on Pantasilea's words. Pedro had shown devotion, but surely his words did not exceed his duty? He was just a poet enamored of his mistress, there was nothing unbecoming in his actions. She sighed, longing for a warm embrace and trying desperately not to remember all the nights as a child she had cuddled into Cesare's arms.

She rose from her bed and found Pantasilea sitting outside doing her needlework by weak candlelight. "Lea?"

"Lady?"

"Send for Pedro." Pedro entered minutes later, smiling like a little boy about to be handed a sweetmeat. She embraced him, clinging to his cotehardie as he lifted her up and carried her to the bed.

* * *

><p>Lucrezia smiled, leaning back on the grass as Pedro Calderon shuffled around his poetry. "Read some more, Pedro," she begged, watching the Spaniard.<p>

"I am all out of poetry today. What should we do now?" Pedro asked, smiling back. "I will write more this evening if the Muse will visit me and in the morning I will recite some sweet words. Is Pantasilea willing to fetch the flute and play for us?"

Pantasilea smiled and left them alone. Pedro grinned at her, eyes full of devotion. She lay on her back, basking in the sun and the eyes of a man who cared if she lived or died. She recalled humid days in her youth, lying like this in the grass without a care in the world. Cesare had been home from Perugia and had talked regularly to her about his studies. Jofre would often lounge by the house with Vannozza. Jofre had always been Mother's favorite and so Cesare and Lucrezia had become inseparable, taking love from each other because their parents didn't bestow as much on them.

She was snapped out of her reverie when one of the nuns shouted from the loggia that a rider had come to San Sisto and was asking for her. She was still brushing grass from her hair and gown when the rider appeared with Pantasilea. It was Cesare. He was dressed in secular habit with a puffy black velvet cap. She adored hats on him.

"You look well, sister, the nunnery is not too dull I take it," he pulled his cap off, revealing his renowned shiny auburn hair. She'd quite forgotten these last three months just how handsome her brother was. She could see the nun who'd brought the news nearly swoon. The girl was hardly sixteen and of a rare beauty for a nun. Lucrezia dismissed her but noticed that Cesare had seen the girl's attention. "I suppose nuns grow bored seeing only saints and Christ. Pedro too of course," he added when he remembered that Pedro was standing beside her.

"Lucrezia says I've a fine chin."

"The only fine thing about you," Cesare didn't take rudeness from anyone even if Pedro was one of Alexander's favorite chamberlains.

"He does have a nice chin," she put in, not liking the tension.

"You are too full of kindness," he remarked drily.

"What did you come here for?"

"To remind you there is life outside these insufferable walls. Take a turn with me about the courtyard and Pedro, pack your things for we leave shortly. Pantasilea, I am sure you've other things to do in a convent. Pray perhaps?"

"For you, your Eminence," she said softly and left Lucrezia with an annoyed Cesare.

"I like San Sisto, Cesare," she informed him as she paused to sniff some carnations. Carnations, particularly red, were her favorite.

"Mother use to have some in her flower beds. White I think."

"She did. I love Carnations."

"They are not a unique flower."

"I wasn't aware a unique flower existed, but if it does do tell."

"You are sour as ever. Do you miss that spineless Giovanni so much?"

"Hardly that. I was having a wonderful day before you ruined it by sending my companions away."

"A messenger and a maid are not worthy companions for a Borgia."

"Pantasilea has been my maid for years and you never stuck your nose up at her before. Why the change?"

"You've had better company before. You have only the maid and some ugly nuns. The abbess is particularly hard on the eye."

"Not all of God's children are blessed with perfection, Cesare. Be kind to those who are malformed. It is God's will."

"Are you implying I'm perfection?"

"That is not what I meant; your ego is astonishing."

"I only tease you. Does this convent really offer more appeal than Rome?"

"Here I do not need to worry about my husband."

"He will not be your husband for much longer. He will give in and sign the annulment soon. Ascanio and his relations in Milan are making sure for us."

"What of my purity, how am I to fake that?"

"Midwives are people as well. A ducat or two should suffice. Where the rumors too much?"

He paused, watching her face. She looked paler and fragile in her gray garments. She was not required to dress the part of a nun, but her bright gowns and jewels were disregarded here.

"They grew tiring."

"I fear they will never go away. We give no reason for their furthering and yet they prevail. Alexander assumes time will erase them. Let us hope so."

"You want me to return to Rome?"

"Not yet. For the annulment to finalize you will need to make an appearance, but enjoy this place a while longer. The air here is clear. Are you ill?"

"Why do you ask that?"

"You look pale."

"I am fine."

"You look tired too."

"Is it any wonder?"

"I do not like to see you sad, Crezia."

"I am not sad."

"You smiled more when we were younger."

"I wish sometimes it could be like that again." He blinked and realized as he looked upon her that she really wasn't a child anymore.

"Lucrezia…"

"What is that look for?"

"I'm only impressed. San Sisto took a girl in and has fashioned her into a respectable lady."

Her face reddened, but her smile was the widest he'd seen in months. He squeezed her hand and they walked the little courtyard as he filled her in on the latest political upheaval. He embraced her as the walk ended, knowing in a moment he'd have to inform her about Juan. She still smelled of lavender. Her bust was impossibly wider than it had ever been. He frowned as he examined her. The paleness, the fatigue, and the weight gain coupled with her larger breasts hinted at something terrible. He grabbed her chin, holding it firmly in place.

"Are you with child?" Her eyes widened and she tried to break his hold, but his strength had always served him well. "Are you?"

"What is wrong with you?" She glared at him angrily.

"Who is the father? It can't be Giovanni; you haven't seen him in months. You took a lover while in Rome and now that you are with child you decide to sneak off to San Sisto? Or could it be you got with child while here?"

"There are no men here, imbecile."

"Pedro Calderon," he mumbled, face darkening. No mere chamberlain got Lucrezia Borgia with child without punishment. It was deplorable.

"Cesare," she grabbed the sleeve of his tabard and he looked down into her face. "Don't hurt him. I love him." He winced at her words; she noticed and ducked her head.

"Never mind Pedro. I've news from Rome."

"This is the reason you came? What is it?"

"Juan is dead."

Her hand went to her mouth. He led her to the fountain and sat her on the edge of it.

"Dead?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"He was taken from the Tiber. He was stabbed to death and his throat was slit."

"When?"

"In June."

"It's September. Why am I only now being informed?"

"We thought… Alexander hasn't been well. The investigation has ceased."

"Who was the culprit," her hand clutched his.

"We found no culprit." He took her into his arms, pressing a cool palm against her forehead. She was sweating. "You should rest. I'll leave." He had a nun go fetch her maid. "Pantasilea, take your lady to her chamber and see if Pedro is done packing."

Pedro said nothing as they rode away from San Sisto.

"Tell me one thing, Pedro."

"That would be, Your Eminence?"

"Do you love her?"

"Who?"

"My sister you got with child?" Pedro's eyes were terrified as he met his steady gaze. "Have you an answer?"

"I…I do not want to die, your Eminence. I did not think. It was a mistake and a grievous sin and I've broken the trust of His Holiness." Cesare smiled. On the inside he was thinking Pedro, charming and of a good personality, was too spineless to truly love Lucrezia. If they had switched positions and he'd won Lucrezia's love and fornicated with her he'd have professed undying devotion to her. Pedro did not sound like a man besotted.

Alexander wouldn't fault him for them for their pleasure taking; he would only be disappointed that Lucrezia had chosen a lowly man as a lover and father of her child.

* * *

><p>"What do you intent to do about Pedro?" He asked from the door, watching Alexander take a seat on his gilded chair. He looked old. Cesare had never seen Alexander's spirits so low, even when the French had entered Rome he'd been in excellent temperament.<p>

"There are two kinds of dissembling, Cesare." Alexander leaned on his arm, staring into the fire. "One is the kind played on enemies, the other on allies."

"What do you intend?"

"Fooling men like King Charles when he went to Naples was dissembling at its best and the kind to be praised. The fooling of an ally is dirty business. I do not like it."

"You are disingenuous with cardinals too."

"Cardinals who were never allies are different. Pedro is a hot-blooded Spaniard, like us and he has done his chamberlain duties to great satisfaction. We could forgive this if she weren't with child."

"Give the word."

"Killing him is the only option," Alexander closed his eyes, running his large, bony hand over his eyes. "I will give them some more time together. Lucrezia will thank me for it in the years to come. Be patient, Cesare, her honor is redeemable if I say it is."

"You make virgins out of whores too; miracles are possible when you're a Pope."

"You do not like Pedro?"

"He is better than Giovanni."

"True."

"She loves him."

"I was hoping you would not say that."

"She will hate us for killing him."

"Let it be so, there is nothing else to be done."

"Lucrezia?" She lay motionless on her bed, facing the wall.

"Go away."

"You know what had to be done. Pedro couldn't have been left alive."

"I hate you."

"You don't really mean that," he sat down and grabbed her shoulder, turning her forcefully around. She struck him in the face. He grabbed her wrists and moved her into a sitting position. "Did you love him?"

"No."

"Then he died for little more than lust."

"Don't make light of what you've done to me. He was a good man."

"He wouldn't have kept his mouth shut. More importantly what were you thinking in the first place? A chamberlain for a Pope's daughter?"

She spat at him, tearing her wrist free and striking him again. Her blows were pitiful, but they hurt more emotionally than anything she might have said.

"I cared about him."

"To think a nobody like that could garner your love is as absurd a notion as I have ever heard."

"He was all I had in San Sisto."

"You had Pantasilea and the nuns."

"I was lonely."

"You could have come back to Rome."

"You don't understand. It is better I took a lover away from all the gossipers."

"No. Now they will say your unborn child is Rodrigo's or God help them mine."

"Did you have to murder Pantasilea too?"

"Yes. She knew too much and she facilitated this affair."

"She was my friend."

"I know. Is there anything I can do to get your forgiveness?"

"Kill yourself?"

"I am being serious," he took out his handkerchief and dabbed her wet cheeks.

"You said I could take a lover remember?"

"Not now. You're on the verge of a divorce and you can't marry now until after the birth. It's one thing when you are married and a child is expected, that way no one can be certain the child isn't your husband's…but now when you haven't seen Giovanni the gossipers will slander you as a whore. We must try our hardest to brush this scandal away somehow."

"How?"

"I don't know. It's far too late to be rid of the child through drinks. It's dangerous enough at an early stage and to be honest I don't think I'd want to risk it even at an earlier stage. You'll have to bear the child and give it up."

"Don't say that!"

"You know what must be done."

"Please."

"Don't beg when there is no alternative. You really didn't give this much thought."

"I thought Pedro could just leave and never show his face again and that I could raise the child…like a nephew or something."

"Raise him as a nephew?" His expression turned from frustration at her lack of foresight to thoughtful. "In a few years we can recall Giovanni after you've remarried, label him a nephew or something, and you may see him yet."

"A few years?"

"Lucrezia, think on what I've said after I leave and you'll realize the only course available."

* * *

><p>Giovanni Borgia had Pedro's dark eyes and Lucrezia's fair hair. He stroked the boy's head with his right hand and smiled when he curled his hand around the pinky of his left. He was adorable and could only imagine Lucrezia as an infant.<p>

"Isn't he handsome, Cesare?" Lucrezia dropped her needlework and sat in the chair set before the cradle.

"Undeniably so."

"When does Father intend to steal him from me?"

"Do not view it that way. He will be returned when he is old enough."

"I need not wonder how Mother felt anymore."

"I never stared upon a lovelier child," he ran his fingers though his hair, watching the innocent eyes.

"What of your own? Father mentioned when he dropped by earlier that you'd told him you had some of your own."

"I never looked upon my sons, but Camilla was precious. She must be getting on in years now. I am only thankful she is amongst nuns and not whores like her mother."

"How many do you have?"

"Three for certain."

"Do you miss them?"

"I do not know them well enough to miss them." He smiled even as Giovanni started crying and kicking in his crib. He picked him up, felt his bottom, and handed him off to Lucrezia. "I believe he is hungry."

She slid her gown to her waist and took the baby. He averted his eyes from her breasts and went to fetch one of Giovanni's toys. "Where is that ragdoll solider I gave him?"

"Giovanni tore his head off."

"You're jesting."

"I have no idea how he managed it."

"He'd make a fine solider," he laughed. He paced the chamber as Lucrezia fed, thinking on Alexander's recent promise. "My fortune may change, sister," he adjusted the sleeve of his tabard.

"How?"

"I may be relieved of the cardinalate."

"That's impossible."

"Alexander is Pope therefore anything is possible."

"No one has ever resigned."

"I intend to be the first and after that I will do many first, Lucrezia!"

"I am pleased for you," she finishing feeding Giovanni and rubbed his back soothingly.

"You do not sound pleased."

"I am excited for you. This is your dream come true." She set Giovanni back in the crib and pushed her gown up.

"I will also be the first Borgia to marry a legitimate daughter of a king!"

"What?" Her horrified look startled him.

"Are you not happy for me? Congratulate me sister!" He raised his arms, waiting for her to embrace him and say well-meaning things. When she stood as straight and unmovable as a pole he lowered his arms. "No joy for me at all?"

"I am happy for you," her choked voice and the way she turned hurriedly away did not signify happiness.

"What is wrong?"

"I never thought you'd marry."

"I never thought I would either. I was destined for the Church."

"I preferred it."

"Why?" He stepped behind her, leaning close to the warmth of her body and let his hand fall gently on her shoulder. "I'll always be there for you, Crezia, you should not fear that."

"I will hate whoever you marry."

"Why do you say that? She won't be prettier I assure you."

"You promise not to love her?"

"How could I?" His voice cracked and he lowered his head, pressing a soft chaste kiss against her shoulder. "I am already in love with another."

He felt her shudder and shivered slightly himself. Had he really just said that? He had no other way to comfort her and knowing Lucrezia she would not think incest was what he was implying. He lifted his head and let go of her shoulder when she turned around to face him.

"Cesare…" He found her arms around his shoulders in the next instance and her lips pressing violently into his. Reeling a bit from the unexpected action he recovered quickly and urgently wrapped his arms around her waist. Her nose bumped against his cheek as his tongue forced her lips apart and dived blissfully in. He felt heat in every part of him and a growing organ in his codpiece as her body, gigantic milk filled breasts and thighs, pushed rapturously against him.

He twirled his tongue around her mouth, trying desperately to taste every inch before this was lost to him. Her left hand rested on his taunt shoulder as the other tore at his hair. He stifled a grasp as a knock sounded at the door.

"Who is it?" Lucrezia sounded breathless. His desire hardened him at the sight of her colored cheeks.

"Sancia."

"What do you want?"

"I wanted to see my nephew."

"Right now?"

"Why not?"

"He's getting changed."

"Oh…" Only one thing kept Sancia from Giovanni. "I'll come by later."

"I'll send a servant to fetch you." Lucrezia turned her attention back to him, her smile apologetic.

"I should go."

"Must you?"

"Don't you want me to?"

"No," her hand ran through his hair, smoothing down what she'd ruffled in their passionate moment.

"Do you want me to stay?"

"Yes," her look was all tenderness.

"As a brother or…"

"A lover," her shy downward look excited him. "I've wanted you since before the rumors started."

He said nothing in response, just grabbed her close and kissed her neck senselessly. This night was going to be the best of his whole life.


	9. Chapter 9

I give chapter nine and ten to my reviewer Writingisapassion48, who helped me realize chapter eight wasn't working. Cesare begins his secular career :) and gets married :(

* * *

><p>Lucrezia giggled, pressing a hand excitedly to her mouth. "I cannot wait to see what Alfonso looks like. Oh, Sancia is he really as handsome as you said?"<p>

"He will be the most handsome man in Rome, even finer than Cesare." She found herself doubting that any man could equal Cesare in that regard, but didn't protest. If such a remark came from his sister's mouth he must have been truly outstanding. Sancia wouldn't lie if he was ugly.

"From all this talk about him I am excited to lay eyes on him," Giulia said. "He must be some kind of man to have garnered Cesare's esteem."

"If Cesare likes him I am sure he will be grand."

"I hope he is as handsome as he was cute when he was younger," Sancia drawled, a naughty gleam in her eye. If she wasn't careful Sancia might snatch her own brother away from her.

"Look now," Giulia pointed into the city below the loggia. Lucrezia ran with Sancia and Giulia on her heels. Below rode many impressively men of Alfonso and Cesare's company. None were as handsome as the two men who rode side by side, heads inclined towards each other. His hair was long and had what seemed a natural curl to it. His eyes were fine, though she could not make out the coloring from here. Looking upon him was like gazing upon a young Adonis. He gave her a look which sent flutters in her chest, his head lowered to Sancia in acknowledgement.

Cesare, in simple black with gold brocaded undergarment, was a striking companion to Alfonso's lively teal garb. She preferred his sobriety of dress and manner over Alfonso's winsomeness. Her bridegroom raised a hand and nodded to her, his actions appropriate and within seconds the procession was passing them.

Sitting beside the Pope she glanced throughout the evening in Alfonso's direction, waiting for him to speak. He nervously kept playing with his knife and when he spoke it was to Sancia, Cesare, or one of his Neapolitan companions. She longed for a word or even a glance that acknowledged she existed.

Cesare was taller and his bearing was more refined than Alfonso, she noted as she hopelessly compared the two despite herself. Alfonso slouched when he thought no one noticed, Cesare was always poised in public, even in private his lax manner was too formal. Cesare's face had a certain strength to it that her future husband's lacked. Alfonso was boyish. The new beard Cesare had grown was much to her liking and gave him an air of maturity she loved. She would try to make Alfonso grow one.

By the end of the evening she found his cowardice unappealing. Was he so scared of her he would not even bother to look at her?

"Brother-in-law, sister," she met Cesare's shrewd eyes without flinching. "One would think you'd have words to say. Should Lucrezia, in that pretty gown of hers," he raised his glass to her, "not dance in it to entertain us? Duke, dance with my sister; she is to be your wife in more than name tonight."

Alfonso looked nervous as he stood and offered his hand. She waited for the music and noticed he kept glancing down at his feet. If this boy was to be her husband she did not want him. How had Sancia endured Jofre?

"You have not spoken more than four words to me this evening," she prompted, waiting for an excuse. She could understand if he was nervous or naturally shy, but she had seen the exact opposite around Cesare, Jofre, and others.

"Your beauty alone has me constantly rethinking my word choice," he admitted, flashing a smile that when she was thirteen would have made her swoon. Now she thought it charming, but altogether not as endearing as Cesare's.

"You do me too much honor," she answered politely, moving gracefully around him. Their hands met briefly in the dance and she knew if she'd been thirteen, as she was when she married Giovanni, she would have been a giggling mess by now.

"You are more beautiful than your portrait conveyed."

"I am glad you think so."

"Your brother spoke remarkably well of your character, your manner, and your beauty, but I do not think an angel as refined as you existed. I thought he merely wanted to make sure the marriage was cemented; now I see he spoke only truth."

"I like your words," she smiled in pleasure, "did Cesare inform you that the quickest way to my heart was my vanity?"

"He said your compassion." She smiled with genuine delight.

"I never seen two youths more suited for each other," Alexander stated jovially. "We will have a hard time keeping them from the bridal chamber." Laughter followed his audacious words. Cesare watched Lucrezia twirl in Alfonso's arms, his inner being as calm as the rest of him appeared this evening. He didn't think she'd be taken from him so easily. He was not to know how wrong he was.

* * *

><p>"I am to depart on the first," he informed Sancia. She was covered in pearls and satin and lounged on her pillow gracefully.<p>

"I will hope for your success."

"You do not need to hope. I have not even the slightest doubt of my success. Where are Lucrezia and Alfonso?"

"Where are young lovers usually?" She watched his face. There was a challenge in him even she hadn't been able to climb. Cesare had always been an indomitable spirit; that quality alone attracted her. She had tried viciously to acquire a place in his world, whether through bedding or companionship. Their relationship, a tentative one at the best of times, had never amounted to much to her great disappointed. He had once considered her for a lover, but seeing how all his liaisons ended and in short order she doubted it would have endeared her to him. Her task at fastening onto him through companionship had played out better, but there was coldness to his princely manners even when formality was dropped. Cesare was the type of man who needed no one and because of this people wanted his confidence.

"Fetch them," he ordered a nearby servant and dropped ever elegantly on a cushion beside her. "Are they often closeted together?"

"Half the day I think. They are young and emboldened with love. Alfonso pays no mind to his duties and Lucrezia has always been childlike in all aspects."

"I mistook her for an adult," his voice held a touch of whimsy to it. His eyes were ever passive. "How will I find Princess Carlotta?"

"My cousin is pretty if that is what you're asking. She is far removed from me unfortunately."

"That is good. A wife should be faithful."

She tried for his hand, "Will you miss Rome?" She could never tell from his expression if he was serious or feigning it. He clasped her hand at her offering it and smiled.

"It is not Rome I will miss, sister-in-law." He shrugged, "I will miss His Holiness and the rest of the Borgia." By Borgia he was including everyone from Lucrezia and Jofre to their distant relatives like his cousin Angela. She knew his addressing her by relation was tacking her on too.

"Rome will miss you too."

"Will my sister who never sees me?" He demanded, his eyes holding a gravity that was rare for them. Ever since the marriage Lucrezia was either entertaining men of her newly fashioned court or with Alfonso. "I will think not. Sancia," his left hand touched her face, pushing her raven locks behind her ear. "You have always been unduly kind, even when situation should make it otherwise."

"You are my brother-in-law, being unkind would be rude." She had always wondering what making love to him would be like. She'd heard he was pleasing in bed. She could imagine the nice tricks he knew.

"Will you miss me, Sancia?"

"Of course," he smiled and kissed her as his hand held her neck. She shuddered from desire, flicking her tongue against his lips, but he released her before she could enter.

"What's this? My poor sister can't get enough?" Alfonso was dressed in his favored greens with emeralds and sapphires encrusted on his gold chain and the sleeves of his doublet. His hose were stripped blue and green. Lucrezia wore burgundy with little adornment on her neck or wrists. The drab color of her dress and the netted hair gave maturity to her youthful features. Alfonso's outfit still spoke of boyhood; Lucrezia's matronly garments suited her new titles of Duchess of Bisceglie and Princess of Salerno.

"Matrimony looks well on you. Should I address you as Duchess or Princess?"

"Duchess of Bisceglie," Alfonso said, dimples beaming as he smiled. "She is truly a good Duchess!" Alfonso's gaiety of person seemed more appropriate to someone of less rank. His manners were not refined enough, but age would fix that he hoped.

"Whichever pleases the new Duke of Valentinois."

"You're a Duke?" Sancia looked stunned. "Since when?"

"The day I resigned the cardinalate His Majesty King Louis bestowed the honor upon me."

"I am so glad I no longer need to address you as your Eminence, that title is too stuffy. It suited you as little as those hideous robes."

"Duke of Valentinois," Alfonso said with a chuckle. "There will be too many going around to be comfortable. I already have a hard time with my styling. I will always be second guessing myself."

"Naples taught you nothing," Sancia scoffed.

"I cannot help it. Other things occupy me."

"Duke of Valentinois," Lucrezia offered her arm and he took it. "It will be strange getting accustomed to it. I am use to thinking of you as Cardinal of Valencia."

"You could call me Valentino; the populous have already taken to it."

"Valentino," she smiled, "suits you. The grounds are lovely. Let's take a walk. I've had carnations planted near the steps."

"I saw them." They walked in silence a ways, Sancia and Alfonso giving them space because he was leaving soon.

"What did you come here to inform me of?" She demanded, clinging to his arm as she had always done.

"I'm leaving on the first."

"I know. Alfonso made mention of it."

"You did not think to say goodbye?"

"I figured I'd watch you go from the loggia."

"That's very indifferent of you."

"It is appropriate."

"Damn property for one minute, Lucrezia," this time it was he who stamped his foot. Sancia and Alfonso watched in alarm as his face reddened and his brow knitted. He smoothed out his expression when he saw their startled looks. Lucrezia hadn't moved or showed any emotion.

They continued walking, his step slower and more unsure than a moment ago. Alfonso and Sancia didn't notice this; they were too busy discussing the uncharacteristic emotion Cesare had displayed.

"Property is important," she said at last, sick of the tension and not wanting to listen to the whispers at her back.

"To a point, yes, but who would think it odd if a dear sister gave farewell to a much loved brother? In front of her husband, servants, and Sancia?"

"Dear and much loved?" She gave him the kind of scolding look Vannozza and Adriana did. He scowled, forgetting decorum in real anger once more.

"I know what you are trying to do, Lucrezia," he stopped walking, lowering his voice so Sancia and Alfonso wouldn't eavesdrop. "I know you long for open happiness and love, and that I cannot give you, but for god's sake wish me well when I am about to go off to war."

She glanced away, ashamed face turned down and he saw this. "You feel unbearable shame while I don't. I'd never felt happier, but to hell with it," his emotions were tight in his chest, threatening to rip him in two. He'd never felt such despair, even when he'd spent so long yearning for her. He wished he'd never lain with her. "If I should die while campaigning in the Romagna then good for it will be a release! Pray for that if you pray at all!" His last words were harsh and loud. He stormed off, walking straight towards the Vatican without a glance back.

Lucrezia folded her hands and clasped them together, trying to still the tremble in them.

"What was that?"

"It was nothing, Sancia."

* * *

><p>Lucrezia blinked slowly, adjusting her eyes to the darkness of the bedchamber. Alfonso, showy garments left on the floor, settled beside her. The hair on his arms was thicker and lighter colored than Cesare's.<p>

"Want to tell me?" He softly pressed kisses against her neck. They were different than Giovanni's; his had been wet and none too pleasant. Cesare's kiss during that bittersweet night had been urgent passionate releases. Alfonso's kisses were tenderness, even in the heat of love making he was languid and more love than lust.

"Cesare."

"That doesn't surprise."

"He wanted me to say goodbye," she nestled against his chest.

"Is that wrong?"

"I didn't want to even see him go. He's going, Alfonso, and I can't stop his star once it's started its ascent. He's left the old behind. He's no longer a priest but a Duke and now marriage and children await him in France. How am I to feel? I'm losing him to his only true desire!"

"His ambition may be great, but he'll return. He has to."

"But he won't be the same; he won't be the brother who loved me over his ambition. Isn't that clear?" She started crying, this was just too much to bear.

* * *

><p>On the twelfth of October Cesare landed in Marseilles. The Bishop of Dijon greeted him warmly and informed him he was to accompany him to Avignon, where he was going to be given over to Giuliano della Rovere, prelate to the French and long-time Borgia enemy. Della Rovere had sought adversaries to the Pope in French or Spain, but upon finding none he'd become quite cordial to the Papacy and sent condolences to His Holiness after Juan's demise. This reception of the Pontiff's son meant he wished to make amends for earlier affront. Della Rovere was to escort Cesare to the king, who held Court at Chinon for the time being.<p>

Della Rovere was dressed appropriately in red cardinal robes, head donned in the red as well. Cesare smiled and when the man's face was before him he looked for every hint of familiarity. He found none.

Maybe he was fathered from a nobody like Domenico d'Arignano who had amounted to nothing and died. He didn't really know whether or not to believe Alexander when he said Domenico was a fabrication for his legitimacy.

He may have been ambitious, but that was mostly because of who had reared him. He prayed to God, though he did not believe in Him, that he was either Rodrigo or Giuliano's illegitimate son. He wanted to be a Borgia; everyone he loved was and every thought, every action, every bloody deed he'd committed had been to pass on the legacy of the House of Borgia. He was a Borgia, if not in name, then in his heart. He couldn't, or didn't want to, see the resemblance to Giuliano della Rovere, a simple prelate. He was a Borgia, to hell with who his real father was.

Giuliano's manners and mild speech impressed him. They sat drinking in his apartments. Even though he'd resolved to be a Borgia he found himself searching Giuliano's attitude for any signs he wondered on his paternity.

"More wine, Duke," Giuliano inquired, motioning to a servant. The man was over eager to please, but without it possibly being an affront as it would have with others. Cesare found himself liking the man the longer they sat.

"Yes, I've quite the thirst."

"You profess to be thirsty and yet you remain on your first cup. Very contradictory, Duke of Valentinois," he waved a finger at him with a chuckle.

He smiled at the man's slyness, even when making base statements of offense they came off as jovial jests. It was small wonder Rodrigo had barely wrestled the Papacy from him.

"Very," he waited until his cup was suitably full before he spoke. "I am told, by a trusted astrologist that all people have twin stars."

He didn't trust any astrologist worth his salt. People believed too readily in falsity and men made profit from it. He was in the game of appearing faithful, a devote Christian if ever asked, and a staunch believer in astrology. Commoners occasionally needed to be pandered to.

"Twin stars?"

"I reckon he meant every person has a contemporary of equal greatness. Take for example Michelotto," he waved his assassin over. "He is my shadow, my other half so to speak. Is that not so, Michelotto?"

"I would never be so presumptuous, Duke."

"Fine then, not you. You understand what I mean?"

"I understand."

"Rodrigo is Pope now," he glanced down at the tabletop, "but he will not always be." This was no design to betray his familial ties; this was a safe guard for the Borgia should Giuliano ever become Pope.

"You crave my favor should something happen?"

"It is prudent and you would do the same in my position. His Holiness' health is well and I would think not close to faltering, but one never knows. He owns the College."

"If he should die you would get their loyalty and hand it over?"

"It depends on if I have a more favorable candidate."

"You make no assures, but like a good diplomat you promise much."

He sipped his wine and. as Giuliano sat drumming his fingers on the tabletop, he spotted the girl hiding behind the curtain leading to the inner chamber. She had a smarmy coloring and dark eyes and hair. There was a beauty in her face and fineness about her that could have been painted on by a great artist. He smiled, "Do you know that girl?"

"Girl?" Giuliano followed his gaze and stood upon seeing her. "What are you doing about?"

She ducked her head and the action so reminded him of Lucrezia he waved Giuliano's anger aside. "No reason for harshness, Giuliano, she is a child."

He knelt in front of her and touched her hair gently, recalling Lucrezia's girlish body and smiling face at that age. He picked her up into his arms and carried her over to the table. He pulled a sweetmeat off the platter and placed it in her hands.

"She's a gentle soul," he said softly, sitting back down and setting her on the table. "Get her a chair, Michelotto."

"Her name is Felice," Giuliano sat down, "She is my only daughter." He saw Giuliano's unease.

"How old is she?"

"I'm fourteen, Duke."

He grinned at her, pleased with her assessment of his title; either she had sly deduced he was a person of worth or she'd heard some of their conversation. "My sister, Lucrezia, had a mind as sharp at that age. Still does in fact. Calm down Giuliano, I don't bed children."

He could tell the cardinal didn't believe him. He ignored his worried look and instead said amiably to the girl, "All girls your age have a habit of knowing things they shouldn't. Do you think me handsome?"

"Duke," he quieted Giuliano with a simple look.

She giggled and blushed, too much like Lucrezia for him to bear. "Yes."

"Do you find the sweetmeat good?"

"Yes."

"And this ring on my finger? Is it pretty?"

"I love jewels. Father doesn't give me many." He slipped the pearl and agate stone off his finger and put it on hers.

"Children love easily, Felice."

"I'm not a child. I'm fourteen, almost fifteen."

"You are old in mind, not experience. The world is a harsh place, full of unscrupulous people. Remember that one man," he pointed to her new ring, "cared enough to give you something out of appreciation for your innocence. A husband won't care for innocence, nor a politically minded Father or a jealous lady. Preserve this and forsake it not. Virtues, such as trust and love are rewarded, if not by God, than by those able to appreciate it in a world nearly devoid of sentiment."

He retired early, not knowing when he finally left to join the King in December Giuliano took the ring and Felice never saw it again.

* * *

><p>His entrance into the city was splendorous. At the head of the cavalcade rode twenty-four mules carrying baggage covered in the emblem of the red Borgia bull and Cesare's three pointed flame, the device he'd taken up to remind him forever of Lucrezia. Twenty-four mules in the King of France's scarlet and gold and sixteen beautiful chargers pressed behind them. Pages and lacqueys dressed in scarlet and yellow with two mules bearing gifts followed. Thirty gentlemen of Cesare's retinue rode ahead of him.<p>

He was mounted superb war horse. He wore all black velvet and his undergarment was gold brocade. His chain bore diamonds, his hat rubies, and his black boots were laced with gold and gems. He would have been a dazzling sight in Rome and whispered of in awe and admiration for weeks afterwards. He was in France though and his displayed he quickly found made him the talk of the country, but not because it was pleasing. He was angry at this; his rise into glory was not agreeable even from the start.

His anger wasn't entirely aimed at his reception; he'd gotten terrible news last night. He'd been in pain and ordered for a doctor; this doctor had informed me that he'd caught the French disease. It was in the first stage thankfully and no rashes and marks would mar him for years if he was lucky. He still recalled lying in his bed in Naples as the doctor examined his genital area, proclaiming he had an insect bite that would disappear. The doctor had lied for fear of telling him the truth. He must have contracted it during his time in Naples shortly after Juan's death. He had crowned the King of Naples, but had gained an enemy for life that might lead to his death. This was not a glorious start to the fulfillment of his dreams.

* * *

><p>Most Illustrious Lady and dearest Sister,<p>

A most glorious union between me and Lady Charlotte d'Albret, sister of the King of Navarre, is expected. His most gracious Majesty Louis has given his blessing and we will be husband and wife shortly. I hope your health is well and your soon-to-be child is not causing you too much discomfit. I remember how Giovanni's birth was hard on you and will pray for a safe delivery. I pray also that your husband, the Illustrious Duke of Bisceglie, our brother-in-law Alfonso, is well too. If God is kind Charlotte may soon be with child and our children may play in the Vatican gardens together.

Your brother,

Cesare Borgia

Lucrezia took a deep breath, letting the letter fall from her fingers. Her lady-in-waiting went to pick it up. She collapsed to the ground. She awake later in her apartments, Alfonso's anxious face staring down at her.

"What happened?"

"You fainted. The doctors say you've miscarried."

"A boy?" Fear gripped her breast; she had known how much he'd wanted a son.

"No, a girl," she could see the relief in his eyes. "It was not something you could help, love, we will just have to try again."

* * *

><p>Cesare took the lady's arm, alarmed by how easy on the eye she was. After Carlotta's coolness it was nice to be dancing with a partner that cared if he lived or died.<p>

Carlotta, at the insistence of her father, had refused him for months. Naples had made it clear it did not want another Borgia to marry into their Aragon House, especially a former cardinal and certainly not a legitimate Princess.

He had not taken the rejection well, not out of affection for Carlotta for he'd heard she tarnished his name when he was out of earshot, but at the idea that his dreams weren't falling elegantly into place. He'd expected her to play hard to get, but not this stubborn unwillingness over the last months.

He changed his plans of marriage only at the King's advice that he was looking foolish as time wore on and that the situation was in vain. Louis, thankful of the Papal bull which allowed him to divorce Jeanne and marry Anne of Brittany, set about finding him a new alliance. Louis, eager to be in the good grace of the Pope, offered his cousin Charlotte d'Albret, sister of the king of Navarre.

It was Charlotte he danced with now. She had proved to be of a sweet disposition and she danced better than most. He noticed Carlotta's disdainful watching.

He knocked upon Carlotta's door later that evening and was pleased with her surprised expression. "You call upon me at a strange hour, Duke."

"I wanted to make certain you are not as hot blooded as Sancia."

"You dare to compare me to her? She is the biggest whore in Rome," her hair was hastily pushed out of her face. "I forgot that's what they call your sister."

"You may say whatever you please about me, the Pope, and even your own relation."

"Hardly."

"But you will refrain from other Borgia."

"I may speak ill of His Holiness?"

"There exists none without sin and within reason you may."

"Why is the rest of the Borgia exempt? Lucrezia is said to be―."

"What is said is not always true. Lucrezia has never hurt any; she is a paragon of virtue if ever one existed. You are not unlike Sancia, you are both fiery vixens."

"You'd know."

"I came here to see if we could end this on a good note. I take it you'd prefer I just leave."

"You know me well then."

"I will not trouble you further."

* * *

><p>Charlotte d'Albret was shaking when he lowered himself onto the end of the bed. He yanked his boots off and began working on the lacing of his codpiece.<p>

"I was raised in this court, Duke," she mumbled as she watched his hands. The Court of Jeanne de Valois was a grey and stern one.

"I know, Charlotte," it was the first instant he'd used her given name. He noted her shudder of pleasure.

"You know I am very unversed in―." His look signified he understood her fears and so she fell silent.

"I am not expecting a lewd evening," he stood to finish his hose.

"Why don't you have a servant undress you?"

He paused and smiled, "I like your reaction to my undressing. It also means I can speak freely with you. Do you have any immediate questions for me as the new Duchess of Valentinois?"

"Is it true you've fathered eleven illegitimate children?" He stared at her; hands paused at unbuttoning his doublet.

"Eleven I do not, I have three. Do not mistake me, wife, I'm no saint. I am a worldly man, but I promise to be faithfully to you as long as I reside in France."

"Only while you are here?"

"Who can say how long I'll be in the Romagna. You should not expect me to remain without. I do not expect you to."

"I promise I'll never lay with another."

"You are sweet," he touched her cheek. "Now do you expect to bed me without undressing?"

Her face went red, "Should we not wait until after supper?"

"I am already half undressed and quite eager if I do say so myself."

Her embarrassment deepened as he stood in only his chemise and she noticed his excitement through his braies.

"It will be more enjoyable to you later if we partake of pleasure now. Come," he pushed her onto her back and kissed her, wondering as he began undressing her if her sweetness would make him forget the heavenly face of Lucrezia.

* * *

><p>"Eight times!" The Pope pronounced, slamming his beefy fist into his armrest. "Eight times by God! He is Hercules! Did you hear Jofre?"<p>

"I heard, Your Holiness, of his commendable feat." Cesare had written of his acquiring a wife in France. Charlotte d'Albret was the sister of the King of Navarre and Cesare had enjoyed her so much they'd made love twice before supper and six times after on their wedding night.

Lucrezia stood, begging the Pope's forgiveness as she hurried from the audience chamber. They would all mistake her sudden illness as part of the new baby growing in her womb, not her discomfort at Cesare's marriage talk.

"Lucrezia," Sancia grabbed her arm and the two walked to Santa Maria together.

"You look a sight," Sancia opined as they paused at the steps. She pressed a hand to her mouth, feeling nauseous at the thought Cesare might love Charlotte. What other reason existed for him to bed her eight times? She caught sight of the carnations, her favorite flower, and hurled the contents of her stomach into them.

"Must be the baby," Sancia ran a consoling hand over her backside.

"Must be, I feel sick all the time," she wiped her mouth and was grateful for her sister-in-law's support as they entered her palace and went to her chamber. She closed all the curtains and let the canopy down as she settled onto her bed to rest. She could hear Sancia talking to a servant about running her a bath. She closed her eyes and tried desperately to will herself away from this life. She was certain no one heard her crying.


	10. Chapter 10

"How was your stay in France?"

"Agreeable," he stated simply.

"How's your wife?"

"Excellent. She's with child."

"I take it she isn't excellent then," Alfonso laughed.

"For good reason," she swatted him benignly on the head.

"I should expect Charlotte to be with child, you did bed her eight times on your wedding night."

"He performed as every strong, lusty husband should," Sancia gave Cesare a look that was sultry, ignoring Jofre's discomfiture at his apparent lack of vitality implied by her careless remark. "I am envious of Charlotte."

"Lottie is to be envied," Cesare said with a smile.

"You've a pet name for her? What about me?"

"Rome has enough epithets for you," Rodrigo said with a laugh, "Let's not add another."

Cesare spoke graciously of Charlotte, Lucrezia noticed, and had even spoken with great fondness when he referred to her as Lottie. She felt that sick twisting in her gut once more.

"I do not feel well, excuse me."

"If you feel ill because of the child," Rodrigo said, "send word before coming and don't trouble yourself. Another miscarriage would be very disagreeable."

"Child?" All eyes turned to Cesare who'd nearly choked on his wine.

"You didn't know Lucrezia's with child again?"

"I had no idea."

"I'm hoping the baby's a boy," her husband stated with gusto. She met his eye over Alfonso's head; he gave a small smile and nodded and she smiled in return before leaving.

* * *

><p>The thought that Caterina Sforza was related, even remotely, to Giovanni Sforza was tragic and comical all at once. She was fiery, vengeful, and brave; he was boring, stupid, and cowardly. Thinking on the virago and her imbecile of a relation he suppose he was related to Juan and that was folly too. He wished Caterina had been born a Borgia.<p>

Her appearance when he entered her quarters where the Bailie of Dijon held her was commendable. Her long hair was set in a net, her face artfully done in rouge, and her purple gown accentuated her sensual body. Caterina, positioned on a pillow at her current captor's feet, looked the very picture of a woman begging for absolution. He admired her composure, even if she was hiding ill intent.

"Caterina Sforza, Countess of Forli and Lady of Imola," he addressed her politely. He waved the Bailie to silence and watched him leave the room in unease.

"You know of me. Do I know of you?"

"I am a captain in the service of the Duke of Valentinois." She believed him because of his simple garb and lack of adornment. He took the Bailie's seat.

"The Bailie is considerate," Caterina Sforza drawled, looking as she leaned on her pillow very little like the woman upon the ramparts who had cried of her indifference toward the execution he'd threatened her children with if she didn't yield. She had said she had the mold to make more; he didn't doubt that. He could see the danger lurking behind her twinkling eyes. He had almost fallen into her trap of death on the drawbridge when he went to parlay with her; he was not going to make a similar mistake.

"Are you curious at all of your captor?"

"You mean the Duke? I heard he dresses all in black and that he wears a mask to hide the French disease. I know all I need to know of such a man."

"What do you mean?"

"He is vain yet unfashionable."

"You say he is vain for his masks."

"Indeed."

"The Duke's masks," Cesare smiled, pleased that Caterina couldn't see the ravishing of the great pox upon his face. His servants had hid it well with powders; it helped that the marks weren't seriously deep yet. The rashes upon his hands he kept covered with gloves and his boots hid the rashes on his feet. "How do you know he hides himself out of vanity? I happen to think he covers himself out of respect for those who would be repulsed by his ghastly appearance."

"His ghastly appearance is no more than he deserves," her eyes flamed brightly in anger as she leaned her breasts against his legs. He knew her well; she was perfectly timing every action and word to her benefit. Most men would do well to beware her; he was grateful he'd had previous experience with Sancia. "He cares little for the common solider such as yourself," she drawled her last word, eyes trained on his face. "Especially handsome men. They say he cuts tongues and hands off of all the pretty men in Rome."

"If that was so we'd have heard about it and the Roman woman wouldn't allow that."

"You are an intelligent captain, quite unlike that Bailie. Tell me, if I have inferred wrong, do I have reason to fear this Borgia?"

"In what way should you fear him? For your fiefs of Imola and Forli or…"

"What is taken may be reclaimed and you can tell your Duke that for me."

"I will. Your person, I assure you, is well guarded. No solider would be allowed the privilege."

"You have not come for that purpose then I am relieved." She moved away from him, pressing her lithe hands to her hair and straightening the jewels at her throat. She did not give if she did not want to, he thought, and though not unfazed by his charm she was too proud to willingly surrender to a man belonging to Valentinois. If he had come here to claim her, which he did not, she would have lain with him without complaint.

"Are you going to ask what I come here for?"

"If not my body," she smiled shrewdly, "my land, what else is there?"

"What about your children? The Duke holds them through your castellan Dionigi Naldi of Brisighella. You are aware he'd like his own family back and the Duke can be generous."

"Only if it pleases his ambitious purposes. All tyrants are the same."

"He has come to depose tyrants, not become one. You would do good to take his hand of friendship. You misunderstand his aim as many do. You fault him without knowing who he is. You think he wants to conquer, true enough he does, but you do not know his reasoning."

"What is the reason of all successful and failed tyrants? Power corrupts absolutely and I believe that old adage, do you?"

"Power is merely the means to an end."

"An end to what? Glory is a pitiful excuse to waste lives."

"You've killed for lesser goals, your men died defending you when you knew it was inevitable that you would capitulate. The right course of action was offered and generously so but you stubbornly refused and good men died. Do not deny this."

"I would be scorned at worst and ridiculed at best by every ruler if I did not defend myself. My actions have earned me the admiration of the people, what has your Duke's got him?"

"You think too small, Caterina. What, in retrospect, is reputation when men's lives are at stake?"

"What about Borgia?"

"He does nothing for his reputation. He is aware as every day passes he is more the villain."

"If not for glory then what is this all for?"

"I have not the time to explain my master's thoughts."

"I demand you tell me! Why have my men been butchered, my lands threatened, my own life, and my children's safety been thrust into this monster's claws? If he had no reason for any of his actions he is a madman and everything has been done in vain!"

"The unification of the Papal State, as I am sure you are aware, requires your lands."

"That is his reason? I thought so."

"That is another means to an end, Caterina."

"An end for more conquests?" She laughed violently, clutching her stomach.

"Nothing so grand."

"What of Lucrezia's whoring?" He flinched and saw the slow gratified smile on Caterina's lips for the mockery it was.

"Lucrezia's name has been ill used for she is better than you. Whores should not besmirch noble women's names."

"I do not think I am the reason her name is besmirched," she winked at him.

He stood, toppling the chair to the ground as he rose, and dropped to his knees before her. He grabbed her hair net with one hand and the other leveled her chin so she'd be looking him in the eyes when he spoke.

"I endure much for my family, but I do not tolerate the smearing of my innocent sister's name. Speak of Juan, Alexander, or any other Borgia's actions or person with whatever words you choose, cunt of Forli, but do not speak lies."

"I will not speak untruths then," her eyes flashed dangerously. "I will however call her a conniving charmer who only longed for freedom from Giovanni to fornicate with you!"

He laughed in her face, undaunted by her venom. "Tell me how your little lord of Pesaro is doing? Has he run away yet knowing I intend to advance upon him next? Tell me, Caterina, how you know what took place in Rome when Giovanni is the type to be scared speechless?"

"Is the incest charge true?"

"That was stunningly asked without provocation. You amuse the hell out of me, Sforza tigress."

"Interesting epithet."

"Isn't it more an insult than amusing? I'd hate to be related to a pig like Giovanni or Ludovico."

Her hand clutched his doublet, her eyes vicious. "I prefer Virago of Forli and Imola. I love my lands as much as you Borgia swine your relations."

He smiled, "I have been thinking, dearest Caterina, that the privilege I refuse my soldiers I should partake of myself." His hands pushed her gown off her shoulders. The countess laughed as he kissed her neck.

"Have no doubt I will tell others you raped me and make you appear all the more monstrous."

"I've never raped any," he was all seriousness now, the smile dissolving. "Rape is deplorable. Did you know your good cousin Giovanni enjoyed hitting my sister?" Her silence annoyed him to no end. "We only allowed the marriage to last as long as it did because we needed it for our survival. If I get the chance to wring his cowardly neck I will. They say I planned to kill him and I proclaim that I did. All lowly scum deserve scorn and death."

"Woe to any weakling who angers the tyrant."

"I concur with you on this point, Caterina."

* * *

><p>Plans to march onto Pesaro made, Cesare was determined to leave on the twenty-second of January. His plans were disturbed however by the Swiss under the Bailie of Dijon. The Swiss, ill-tempered bastards that they were, wanted higher pay if they went to Pesaro as they had served him as far as they had been expected to by the King of France.<p>

It was night when the Bailie, along with his mutinous Swiss, came to the Nomaglie Palace to demand Caterina be handed over. The countess, Bailie declared, was his prisoner as she had been captured by one of his men and that she had surrendered to France, adding, rather thoughtlessly, that French law forbade that women should be made prisoners. He had not taken into account this turn of events and since the Swiss were at his door he surrendered Caterina. Immediately he dispatched a messenger to Forlimpopoli with orders that his French Captain, Yves d'Allègre, along with his horse, return.

He spent all night wondering on this event; had Caterina orchestrated the whole thing with the Bailie? It wasn't impossible. He was pleased and annoyed all at once; it was hard business finding someone who could beat him at dissembling. The countess was good, but he was better. The Swiss wouldn't tally along.

In the morning he gathered his Spanish, French, and Italian troops and faced the Swiss. The citizens looked on apprehensively. He stood immobile with face inscrutable as he gazed upon the Bailie and the Swiss at his command.

The Swiss now refused to march on Pesaro until they were paid. Smiling and looking for all the world at ease he informed them their pay waited in Cesena and if they wished further employ they would be paid the higher wage after. He made it clear no further concession was going to happen. The orderly troops behind him made it clear he had the power to subdue them. He also sly interjected into his friendly speech that he might well ring the alarms and let the people of Forli take their vengeance upon the ill-treatment the Swiss had inflicted upon the populous.

Backed into a corner as he had planned, Baili and troops surrendered and the countess was immediately handed back over. On January twenty-third he marched out of Forli, heading to Pesaro.

On the twenty-sixth, in Montefiori, he found his plans postponed once more. Courtiers from Milan informed him that Ludovico Sforza, cousin to Caterina and Giovanni, had raised an army of Swiss and German and was planning to retake his lands. Apparently Milan opened eagerly for his return, liking the lax rule of Ludovico over the French. Trivulzio, holding Milan for the French, begged the return of the troops given to him by Louis.

He dismissed Yves d'Allègre after he reached Cesena and was left with only a thousand foot and five hundred horse. Giovanni Sforza, sitting in Pesaro, had not fled yet. Due to his cousin's action he had grown bold and would wait for assistance should Cesare try to besiege him. Without artillery for the French had taken them he would be in a bad position. It would be folly to pursue Giovanni at the moment so he turned his men and Caterina Sforza towards Rome. He left a garrison in Forli and took the remainder of his forces from Cesena.

"You will like Rome, Caterina," he said as they rode just outside the gate of Santa Maria del Popolo.

"I am sure I will tolerate it. I must." Her gold chains, which she had insisted be fashioned for her when she had seen the first plain ones, clinked every time she moved. Her lustrous curls, which he'd come to adore, hung freely about her face; the rest was braided and pinned elegantly up. Her dress was black velvet and a red belt adorned her small waist. Her quick, bright eyes met his briefly, aware of his scrutiny. She was a prize worthy of being brought before the Pope.

Two cardinals, one Giulia's brother Alessandro Farnese and his cousin Giovanni Borgia, with an imposing suite, rode out to meet them. His sudden burst of joviality impressed everyone in his cavalcade and the report Alessandro gave of the Pope's impatience overjoyed him. He'd missed his family, even lewd Sancia.

At the gate was the Pontifical Court; prelates, priests, ambassadors, and city officials waited to greet the Pope's bastard. He was brimming with longing when he finally was greeted by Jofre and Alfonso. He greeted them warmly and told Jofre he'd gotten manlier since he'd last seen him. It wasn't quite a lie. Jofre was beaming afterwards.

Reaching the Bridge of Sant'Angelo was difficult, the procession's mass and that of the crowding, awed citizenry made progress annoyingly slow. Cannon was fired in salute from the castle. Alexander had not wasted any pomp for this event, he thought, pleased that Alexander was expressing his delight at his return down to the last detail. He'd even installed his banner and the Church's side by side from the castle walls.

The Pope met them in his audience chamber. Caterina, still in chains, followed him in. It had felt like forever since he'd seen his father. Alexander looked a little older and plumper, but he was as vigorous as ever.

He was glad he'd decided against his masks for this day. At first he'd considered wearing one. His shame and fear of Lucrezia's reaction had overshadowed his sense until Michelotto pointed out that she had likely heard from the scandalmongers.

He knelt gravely before his father, announced that everything he did was in his name and everything he conquered was his, and kissed his feet and ring.

"My son," Alexander, forgetting decorum in his enthusiasm, embraced him. He closed his eyes as he hugged him back, aware of the pride and tears in his father's eyes. He resolved more than ever that this path was the correct one. There was no going back of course, but the morale boast was wonderful.

* * *

><p>"How long do you intend to stay in Rome?" Sancia asked with a smile, leaning close to him.<p>

"I stay only until we acquire the ducats to supply my army. The French have taken their support with them now that I've taken Imola and Forli," Caterina, sitting to his left, snorted, "but I will have condottieri, like Vitellozzo Vitelli."

"Or Gian Paolo Baglioni," Caterina's barb was evident. Gian Paolo Baglioni openly bedded his blood sister.

"Or Baglioni. An addition I did not think of. I remember going to some of his feasts."

"I am sure you do."

"Excuse me," Lucrezia rose without further word and left. Cesare watched her go, hesitating as she gave her apology to the Pope. He glanced at Alfonso, who stood a second later and excused himself too.

He waited half an hour before signaling that he was tired. He smoothed out his houppelande as he stood, glancing first at the Pope and then briefly at Caterina. She was considered a guest and had been kindly allowed quarters in the Belvedere Palace. She was taken out by soldiers and though they walked a little while together he left her to go to Santa Maria.

He was announced before he went in. Lucrezia was standing by Rodrigo's crib, holding the baby to her breast as Alfonso, clearly distraught but trying to hide it, stood near the other side of the room. He glanced between the two, speculating on what they had previously been quarreling about. It was evident they had been yelling and Lucrezia only hid her face from him if she was close to tears or uneasy.

"Are you going to welcome me back to Rome, sister," he asked debonairly.

"It is good to have you back, Cesare," Lucrezia set Rodrigo in the crib and approached, her pained expression gone from her eyes and manner as she embraced him.

"It is good be back," he answered as they let go, looking over at Alfonso. "Are you going to greet me too, brother-in-law?"

"I am happy at your return because it brings joy to my wife." It was a decent way of saying he was only glad of his return for Lucrezia's sake.

Cesare, undeterred, took his sister's hand, "I must tell you how we took Forli and Imola."

"I have heard a hundred times from Father. He is very proud of what you've accomplished."

"I do not doubt it. There will be much more before my end comes."

"Let's not speak of death."

"I always thought I'd die young," he admitted, remembering when he'd said this year's ago. He believed it more firmly than ever. "You are right. I came here to gaze upon my nephew, not stir up things yet to come."

Rodrigo had Alfonso's dark hair and Lucrezia's eyes. Upon further examination he found that Rodrigo had Lucrezia's weak chin and Alfonso's ears. He picked him up, remembering Giovanni and a time he had tried desperately to forget. The innocent eyes and the soft limps as he nestled into his arms were delightful. He had never liked children, but Lucrezia always gave birth to prefect little putti.

"He is painfully beautiful," he said at once, admiring the boy's round cheeks.

"I heard Charlotte is with child."

"She should give birth soon." He wondered what his own child would look like, thinking the child was likely to inherit more of Charlotte. He couldn't imagine a small male or a female version of himself.

"I hope you get a son," Alfonso was smiling now, pleased that he regarded Rodrigo charitably.

He smiled and handed the boy back to his mother. He leaned close as he set Rodrigo in her arms and whispered, "Meet me in my apartments. Come any time you are free."

* * *

><p>He was finishing a letter to Charlotte of his exploits when Lucrezia entered. She wore a blue silk gown with leather belt, gold earrings and a sapphire necklace. She was Aphrodite in human form. He stood, waving a hand to the nearby chair and she sat, folding her hands in her lap.<p>

"What did you want to speak of?" Her tone was mild, her gaze not unkind but speculative. He was gratefully his year long absence hadn't made her hard hearted to him.

"You look splendid. Is that a new gown?" Playing to her vanity was appropriately polite. It had the added bonus of pleasing her.

"It is not. I brought it shortly before you went to France. How was France?"

"It was interesting."

"I am sure. What do you want?"

"Am I not allowed to speak with you?" He motioned a servant over and didn't speak until his dinner was set before him.

"You change night into day," she said dismissively as he broke bread.

He laughed, "My profession requires me to rise and sleep at odd hours. You women are lucky; you may sleep early and rise late."

"Sleep keeps us beautiful Sancia says."

"I fear I don't get enough," he gestured to the carnival mask on his face.

"Your aliment could be caused by lack of sleep, in a sense." He smiled and ate, watching her strange eyes, which had haunted him all year, travel about his apartment in boredom. Once his company would have stimulated her as much as him. He wondered if Alfonso had truly taken her from him. He realized with a bittersweet poignancy that he still loved her as deeply as always.

"They call me Valentino now," he said, taking a long gulp of wine. "I find I still prefer to be called Borgia than anything else."

"That is good," her excessive politeness and rigid manners was grating on his nerves. He was use to some formality, but this aloofness was frustrating. It was more characteristic of him than her.

"Is something the manner, Crezia?" He knew his affectionate nickname for her would rouse her back to good humor; it always had before. She looked on the verge of vomiting he thought, becoming alarmed at her paleness and the sweat on her brow.

"Why did you side with France?"

"What?" He set his goblet down, meticulously scrutinizing her distressed features for signs of illness. "You look ill. Are you feeling well? I can call a physician. I have a good man, he helped me when I first―."

"Cesare, my husband is a prince of Naples and my dearest friend, next to Giulia, is his half-sister. You have sided with the French and are assisting them. How should I feel?"

"Lucrezia…"

"Your marriage to Charlotte has assured your alliance with King Louis. Who should I align myself with? You or my husband?" He was reminded of a time when Lucrezia had hardly heeded politics; he found he longed for that time once more.

"You do not need to choose between your family and your husband. Sit down," his voice was harsh on the last two words. He waited impatiently for her to sit before he resumed. "I may be aligned with France to further my aims, but I have nothing against Alfonso or Sancia because of their relationship with Naples. I am aware they have been torn as you are on who they should side with. Let them know this. Cesare Borgia makes no demands of alliance and expects that if they should like to leave Rome and declare themselves for Naples they are free to do so without reprisal from me. If they wish to stay in Rome and play neutral they are welcomed gladly, even more so if they declare themselves for me. It is up to them what happens next."

"You won't hurt them if they stay?"

"No. In fact I would respect them more for staying neutral at the moment than anything. It is easy enough to pick sides in the political arena and is expedient in fact, but when it comes to familial ties I expect betrayal to be a last resort. Think of Juan if you will."

"You really mean you'll leave Alfonso alone?" He nodded his head and she stood and embraced him, more warmly than the first hug they'd shared earlier that day. "You know I'd never hurt you."

"I know."

* * *

><p>Alfonso had never felt more humiliated than the day Cesare came back to Rome. Everyone, from cardinal to low commoner, was speculating about Cesare and his wife. Had they taken up again remarks were routinely made by cardinals' right in front of him.<p>

"Alfonso, there you are, why are you hiding in here? The day is… What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You always like to play the brave type. It is very annoying. Tell your sister what is wrong."

"You need to stop pretending like we were close in Naples, we weren't and you know it. Stop pretending we are close now."

"We were close once."

"I was too young to understand then," he met her eyes with a vicious gleam, "how older siblings can use their younger ones."

"Alfonso―."

"You meant no harm I know, you were young too and precocious."

"Alfonso stop this."

"Stop what?"

"Stop whatever is compelling you to say these things."

"No, I think it is about time we spoke aloud and not in damn jest or obscure riddles."

"You are being stupid. I'm leaving."

"Sancia."

"What, Alfonso?" He may have been her favorite brother but that didn't mean much. She didn't even really know her other siblings. Thinking on it she knew she would never understand the Borgia fidelity to each other. She understood protecting yourself and she understood doing terrible things for people you cared about, but she couldn't understand the familial bonds which drove the Borgias. The only family she had ever really known growing up had been nurses and occasionally Alfonso and now that she was older she understood the necessary of siding with her House for political reasons, but she didn't hold any esteem or adoration for any Aragon.

She liked Giulia and Lucrezia, had enjoyed Juan's sexual aimed humor, and liked how Jofre always tried fruitlessly to get her attention. She even had a soft spot for Cesare which she hated admitting to herself. She could understand wanting to protect these people, but not blood relations. She realized something then, something she hadn't really noticed. The Borgias were her family now.

"Do you think Lucrezia sleeps with Cesare?"

"I really don't know. I've wondered on it too. Who but they can say for certain?"

"When I first came here and I first saw her I…I wanted to protect her. She has such an air of fragility about her." She didn't desire to hurt him so she didn't tell him his words were boyish disillusionment, not the talk of a grown man who knew better.

"She isn't fragile, Alfonso, that is only appearance."

"I know that now. Still I love her. Do you think she loves me?"

"I don't know."

"I'm leaving for Naples. Now that Cesare has sided with the French Rome isn't safe for us Aragon… Come with me, sister?"

"No."

"Why not? Father is there and our siblings."

"I don't remember their faces, Alfonso, and to be honest I doubt they remember what I look like either. I like the Borgias, I freely admit it and though I'll always side with our house over theirs brother, understand that I love them and I won't abandon them just yet."

"You actually care for someone other than yourself?"

"Yes."

"Tell Lucrezia I love her and that I am sorry for doing this. If my son is born while I am away hold him in my stead."

"I will."

"You will always be an Aragon, sister."

"I know."

"I'll see you in Naples. I can't stay here and live a lie any longer."

"Take care, Alfonso," it was terrible that she was relieved rather than upset. With him gone things could finally return to how they had been when Juan had been living. Now if only the dead could rise.

* * *

><p>"Your Holiness," Lucrezia burst into Alexander's chamber, hair disarrayed and dress bellowing out behind her. Alexander sat beside Cesare, a map of the Papal States laid out before them.<p>

"What is the matter?" Alexander admonished, "We are busy discussing what to do about the Papal States."

"Alfonso has fled to Naples for fear of his life. Look what you have done!"

"Who are you accusing you impertinent girl! We have done nothing."

"You've sided with the French and put Alfonso to flight!"

"Enough!"

"People will talk…"

"People always talk, Lucrezia," Cesare cut in, ignoring the Pope's guffaw of annoyance. "Alfonso can be ordered back to Rome. Why should he flee? I made it clear I have no intention against his person."

"Something must have triggered his flight."

"Think on his behavior lately. Has he done anything out of character?"

"Not that I can think of. The usual hunting and good humor he has always displayed. Nothing seemed wrong with him."

"Alfonso has fled," Sancia came into the room without being announced. "I know the reason why and it is not a pretty one."

"Does he fear for his life?"

"Yes and because certain rumors upset him. He cannot, as a boy, handle the taunts as well as you Borgia."

"What rumors now?" Alexander implored, round face turning the color of a tomato in rage.

"They have taken to speaking lewd crap again?" Cesare pounded his fist upon the table, "There is nothing going on between us."

Lucrezia, seeming to pick up what was being implying, stamped her foot. "I am pregnant with Alfonso's child for God's sake."

"Convince Alfonso nothing is going on then."

"I haven't even been alone with Cesare!"

"Alfonso doesn't know that."

"I'll force him back by the hair on his head," Alexander roared. "Breadless brat dares to leave my daughter in this condition and only because of speculation!"

"I will write to him immediately," Lucrezia withdrew with Sancia on her heels.

"You must prove to Alfonso you love him."

"How?"

"Go to Spoleto."

"What for?"

"Show him you love him more than your family. He will see that as a sign that you are distancing yourself from them."

"I can do that."

"Good."

"Sancia, does he really believe the rumors?"

"Not the one's concerning your father and I told him Juan was captivated by me, not you so he only worries about Cesare."

"You told him about Juan, but you didn't reassure him about Cesare?"

"It wasn't my place and to be honest I didn't want to say nothing was happening and then have him find out otherwise." The two women stared at each other. Lucrezia slightly taken aback as Sancia smiled in amusement. "Is it true about you and Cesare though?"

"No."

"You are lying. I know you like a sister, Lucrezia, and you are lying to me."

"Once…long ago."

"How long ago?"

"Does it matter?"

"After Giovanni?"

"Giovanni…"

"Lucrezia?"

"Yes." Neither woman realized they were talking about a different Giovanni.

* * *

><p>"Alfonso," she flung her arms around his neck, covering his face in kisses.<p>

"Wife," he held her close, kissing her lips and smiling. "I feared I would never look upon you again. I was heart sick the entire time away from you."

"You shouldn't have left."

"I am sorry, honey pie."

"You better be," she swatted his arm playfully, "and you know I hate being called that."

"Sugar plum," he teased, his arm going around her waist.

"Stop."

"Bumble bee."

"Bumble bee isn't attractive sounding. The first two are at least delicious. A bee really, Alfonso?"

"Fine…my little sweatmeat?"

"Stop it."

"I love you, Lucrezia," he was serious now, eyes betraying none of his common gaiety.

"Alfonso, darling..."

"Say you love me. Don't imply it like you usually do, say the actual words."

"Why?"

"I need to know you love me. Not him."

"I don't," she turned away from him, walking a little faster and paused at the entrance of the palace. Her face was shielded from the shadows. "I don't love him, Alfonso, I love you. Now stop this nonsense and come inside."

"Yes, my honey pie," he was all smiles again as he bounced up the steps to her and took her into his arms. He didn't realize she had purposely hid in the shadows, fearful that he would see the lie in her eyes.


	11. Chapter 11

"We can't leave Alfonso alone," Alexander resolutely stated. He continued pacing; disliking the turn this conference with the Pope had taken. "He is not only a useless ally due to your French backing, he is a liability."

"How?"

"He is a prince of Naples. Need I say more?"

"He isn't necessarily a cause for concern. He may be an illegitimate prince, but he is indifferent towards the Aragon throne. He doesn't care for politics."

"His position has never carried much weight," Alexander conceded, "because others have taken the throne and he's the youngest son of the King. The problem isn't Alfonso himself; it's your French allies. How should Louis view the marriages of Jofre and Lucrezia? He can make a cause for discontinuity of support should he ever have reason to."

"That is a flimsy reason to get rid of Alfonso and you know it. Alliances change all the time; if France ever decides to go against us we have Spain to fall back on."

"Spain!" Alexander laughed, "You are mad! Maria, Juan's widow you remember, has been bad mouthing us ever since Juan's unfortunate passing. You really expect Ferdinand or Isabella to welcome us if France decides to let us go?"

"Love is not contingent in marriage, neither is the likably of an ally. We do things out of necessary, especially powers like Spain and France. Do not look at me so," he crossed his arms. "You want to ally with Spain again because of our ancestral bonds, don't you?"

"Spain is my heart," Alexander lamented, a wistful look dominating his facial features.

"I have no plans to absolve my new alliance with France. I intend to use them to full advantage as they do us until we no longer need them. I have given them Milan and soon Naples and they will see to it that the Papal States fall to us."

"We are feeding the French giant."

"No, we are ensuring our survival. Let Spain and France fight in Naples until either side capitulates. Then, while the King who wins broods over the costly war and low morale of his troops we snatch Naples for the taking!"

"What are you saying?" Alexander was gaping at him. He sat down, leaning forward to meet his father's face.

"These are plans I've long had in my mind. At first I intended to cement my alliance with Naples through Carlotta, but it matters little in the end. We have two marriages to secure our claim to Naples."

"You are mad," Alexander laughed. "You would take Naples? With what army?"

"The one we'd gain from not only our taking of the Romagna, but Milan, Venice, and Florence."

"All of it? Siena, Genoa, Modena, Ferrara, and Mantua too?"

"Yes."

"A glorious Italia like under Caesar!" He could tell the idea appealed to Alexander.

"We would conquer it like your namesake conquered Persia," he added after he remembered Caterina's words. "We would take Naples and do away with the Aragon House. Alfonso could become king for us and legitimize our claim to it and Lucrezia could be his queen. They would rule Naples for us until we had unified all our lands."

"Why did you never tell me?"

"The timing was never right. If I'd made mention when still a Cardinal you'd have laughed me to scorn. Now when I've begun the conquering you know we can do it. Give the word and all of Italia will be united under one rule."

"The Borgia!"

He smiled, taking his father's hand. "Our rule, Father."

"Yes. Who else knows?"

"No one but me, you, and Michelotto."

"Good."

"I was thinking of telling Lucrezia since she is so panicky over Alfonso's safety."

"You should tell her."

"I'll invite her to dinner this evening. I was thinking of speaking to her the other day. I worry."

"About?"

"I think her loyalty to Alfonso is beyond sensible."

"Love rarely is."

"You know what I mean."

"If it came down to it she would side with us. It won't transpire so do not be concerned."

"True."

* * *

><p>"You are very reticent, sister," he pointed out, watching the way the tawny strands lightly tickled her neck. She was too much beauty for one body; he wondered how he'd endured a year away from her light.<p>

"I am thinking. Have you spoken to Alexander about Alfonso's plight?"

"I have and he's earnestly," he added the last word because he knew the Pope wasn't well known for his honesty, "agreed to leave your husband alone."

"I cannot tell you enough how relieved I am."

"You love him that much?" She didn't answer, just silently probed her dinner. He watched her pale fingers readjust around the knife, observed longingly as her elegant wrist and long alabaster arm glided to her mouth and her rosy lips opened and closed as she ate.

"You're being usually quiescent tonight yourself," she stated as she reached for her wine.

"I am merely admiring great beauty. They have little in way of female charmers in France."

"Your wife is French."

"Charlotte is sweet and her beauty is renowned, but she lacks a certain something." He waved a hand and reached for his goblet.

What that something was he couldn't name; it was just something about Lucrezia he adored above all other women. Every gestured, every sigh, and every smile all dazzled him beyond speech. Other women had to put in a great deal of effort to capture his fascination.

"Caterina Sforza is more to your liking?"

"Caterina is a charmer, like Sancia somewhat, but choosier about her lovers."

"You love Caterina then?"

"No, lust is appropriate."

"Charlotte?"

"I appreciate her wifely qualities and am grateful for her bearing my daughter. You seem very interested about my affairs. You never cared about the courtesans."

"Paid whores are entirely different to wives or mistresses."

"I wouldn't go so far and call Caterina a mistress. She entertained me for a while and now I doubt I'll visit her much longer." How could he desire Caterina when Lucrezia was near?

"They say you raped her in Cesena."

"Her own words are rape. I did not."

"I did not think you that beastly." He wanted to say something about his unceasing devotion which afflicted and overwhelmed him, but hesitated for fear she loved Alfonso. "I am glad you did not wear a mask tonight."

"I felt it was not appropriate. We have been through enough that I do not think my face should frighten you off."

"We have been through much. I would like to see your face without the powder."

"No," he wouldn't allow that. He didn't want her to turn away in horror as the courtesans did; even Caterina when she saw his scarred face had shuddered before slipping into an aloof facade.

"Please."

"You are the last person I want horrified at my disfigurement."

"Is it so bad? I've seen other men's faces with the disease. It is not that terrible."

"No." Cesare scowled, staring at his meal with complete lack of hunger. He set his knife aside and watched Lucrezia. She was poking at her food, expression somber.

"Do you remember how we danced once?" He rose and came to her side of the table. "Dance with me those Spanish dances?"

She smiled and took his hand. There was no music, but their bodies recalled the beat and they moved seamlessly together through each whirl and step. He laughed heartedly, not realizing how much he'd missed her closeness until this agonizing moment. He wanted to embrace her and carry her off to his bed, but knew that time was past. Alfonso was her heart now.

He was sure they made a fine couple. His black velvet cotehardie gave a distinguished and fashionable air with his trimmed beard and tight fitting hose. Lucrezia wore a patterned orange design with gold trimmed chemise and ermine lining her neck. Her hair was loose with only a single corded braid upon the back of her hair. She was beyond stunning.

Lucrezia stopped, panting after what felt like their tenth dance and collapsed into his arms. He held her, wondering at her flowery scent. Lavender was apparently not her favorite anymore.

"That was delightful," she said, nestling against him in that way that was so familiar.

"Yes," his lips, forsaking his lust no longer, descended to her neck. He nuzzled her with his nose, waiting for her response.

"It seems altogether strange," she mumbled.

"What?"

"When I'm with you time doesn't seem to have passed. I miss all those visits you use to pay me. Now we hardly find time for each other."

"That is the way of growing up. We broaden our circles and take others into our hearts."

"Must we forsake what we have to acquire newer acquaintances?"

"We do not need to separate. We are family, Crezia, and I love you." He hadn't said those words to her since before Juan's passing; he hadn't the courage to profess his adulation that one night they'd shared that had been more imitate than all the others. He'd forgotten how good it felt to speak his affection out loud.

He felt her shudder and tightened his hold on her, afraid that in the next moment she would wrestle free and never grace him with her presence expect when in public.

"You do not need to feel the same. I do not expect you to."

"Let me go, Cesare."

"Not until you promise not to hate me for something I've no control over!"

"You can control it if you wish to. You may feel however you please but restrain yourself. Let me go."

He released her and waited for her to turn and face him. When she didn't move to leave, he sighed, running a hand over his beard. "I know you don't want to hear it, but it is unbearable to keep to myself. Speaking aloud makes it easier to endure. I am not asking you to return my affection, I know you love Alfonso, but for God's sake let me get this out. I've tried to keep it to myself, but it has festered and now demands I give it attention."

"Why can't you just love Charlotte?"

"I tried. I bedded her eight times that first night and for days after I was the attentive, loving husband, but it was all pretense. God, if he exists, knows I wish it wasn't. I'd even feel more relieved loving someone like Caterina or Sancia."

"You love me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Who knows why? If men knew why they'd make sure never to fall victim. Mother use to say love has no beginning or ending expect death."

"I've never done anything to deserve it. I'm not a strong lioness like Caterina or pleasing in bed like Sancia."

"None of that matters to me. I love you for who you are, I always have. When I see you with Alfonso and so happy too it tears me open every single time."

"I don't understand why Alfonso loves me. I'm not a good wife."

"Don't pity yourself, Lucrezia, it's your worst quality. I love that about you, even as it annoys me to no end. You are a good wife. You've bore Rodrigo and built a court of the arts any nobleman would be happy to have. You even indulge his hunting obsession."

"I'm not a good wife. A good wife would love her husband. I don't."

"You act like you do."

"You said yourself you only played the part of husband as I have pretended the part of wife."

"Lucrezia…"

"Cesare," she turned now and came towards him, her bittersweet smile the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "I love you." She had never said those words to him since they'd been children, too young then to fully understand the weight of them.

He smiled; rapture sufficing his whole being and he held her face between his hands. Her cheeks felt like baby's skin.

"Kiss me."

"As a brother," he remembered the last time they'd gone down this road.

"As a lover, always a lover." He kissed her passionately, hands clawing at her throat. He unfastened her necklace and let it fell to the floor, not bothering that it was worth more ducats then he cared to think about. He buried one hand in her hair, the other he put to work undressing. Her wrists rubbed yearning circles upon his shoulders as her fingers brunched up and released the fabric of his cotehardie repeatedly.

Her lips sought his hungrily. His cock hardened as she moaned against his mouth. He moved away from her and worked on his codpiece.

"Cesare?"

"What?"

"Let me see your face." His hands stopped. "You can't frighten me away."

"Please, Lucrezia…don't ask this."

"I want to see your face."

"No," she gave in, seeing his resolve.

"Could I catch it?"

"There is a chance. It's in the second stage. The third one, I was told by one doctor, is the one where you can't catch it."

She smiled and took his hand. "I am sure you are as handsome as you once were. You probably just look sunburnt."

He laughed, knowing she was teasing and trying to spare his feelings.

"Do you still want to lay with this ugly man?"

"Always."

She lay in his arms, the crevices between her breasts still glistening with sweat. "So you intend what exactly?"

"I plan to unify these lands, to recreate Rome's glory through the subjection of the Papal States and Naples, Siena, Genoa, Florence, Modena, Ferrara, Mantua. All the way to Venice and Milan. I am building Italia as it once was without fear of foreign powers like France or Spain. United we can stand against any enemy. I will build a dynasty, a kingdom or an empire; it matters little in the end what it becomes called. Everyone sees only the power unifying the Papal States can lend to the Chair of St. Peters. The world is thinking in the temporary. I am concerned with the continuance of our House; not the Papacy. The Papacy could someday align against our House. You see every action I have undertaken has never been solely for me. I will protect the family, Lucrezia, and make sure our name, that of Borgia, never disappears from history. I am after the safe guard of our predecessors."

Her startled, awed look amused him. He gave her hip a squeeze.

"That was lovely," she climbed on top of him, her nipples aroused by how he'd described it. "Take me again."

"We probably shouldn't. What will Alfonso say?"

"I don't care."

"God I love you."

"You must love our family very much too," she mumbled softly.

"Why do you say that?"

"You're enduring the tarnishing of your own name, the horrors of war, and the hatred of every Roman ruler and power in Italia. I know few people who could, much less would, endure that for living relatives."

"True. I hated Juan," she met his eyes, "yet I loved him too. I did not betray him." He knew how the petty rulers and Spain, even his ally France, thought he'd killed the former Duke of Gandia. "It was Juan who betrayed the family and he suffered ill at fate's hand. It is one evil to betray allies, another evil to willingly hurt your own blood. I would have that he still breathed, if only because he was my kin. I see the way it should have been had Alexander arranged our positions more benefiting our personalities. Never mind this talk; Juan deserved his death in the end."

"People will say you deserve yours when it comes," she looked sorrowful.

"When Alexander leaves this life, as he will undeniably do, we Borgia will have nothing to save us from the wolves. If I'd not taken this role we'd be damned to a worthless existence regardless. Juan's deeds and Alexander's simony, irrespective of my murders, would have provoked our enemies. I have murdered men, but only as was necessary to protect our family. More importantly we are Catalan, we are despised as foreigners. From the beginning of Alexander's Papacy to the end we will be considered lesser men because of our ancestry. I will not allow our family name to disappear from this world because of Alexander's simony, Juan's incompetence, and our heritage."

"Oh, Cesare, I love you when you talk like this."

"From the look of you I thought it was just lust."

"Shut up and take me."

"Like I will take the Romagna?"

"Yes."

* * *

><p>Alexander noticed the change. Any man who had experienced love sickness could see it in others. Cesare was hopelessly in love. He only prayed it wasn't Caterina Sforza; that was bad for their new plans.<p>

"Cesare?" He paused, smiling in his way that said he wasn't feigning it. "How are you, son?"

"I am grand. Better even. The disease isn't very pronounced at the moment so my doctor tells me. I'm grateful."

"I am sure you are. Tell me who the woman is."

"What woman?"

"The one who has you wrapped around her finger. Is it that virago?"

"No," Cesare was speaking truth. "Did she tell you?"

"I know her then. You are not following in Juan's footsteps?"

"No."

"Who?"

"I've spoken too much already."

"Tell me."

"Who else do they say I lie with?"

"Ah…" Lucrezia was lovely and the two had always been unusually close. He frowned, "When did it begin?"

"The first time was before her marriage to Alfonso. It only started up again two weeks ago. How did you figure it out?"

"A man can see when another is in love, especially his own child."

* * *

><p>Lucrezia sat tentatively as Alexander watched her. She was beautiful; more Vannozza than him. "Cesare told me he informed you about us."<p>

"He did. Tell me, little one, why did you never speak to me?"

"I didn't want to stain your love of us. I didn't want to see your disgust."

"You're a good girl. Give me a hug." She embraced him lovingly and Alexander, tears in his eyes, held her close like he had when she'd been no taller than his knees. "Sit with me. I want to talk of the past and Cesare doesn't much care for such talk."

"Cesare lives permanently in the future. You know that." If Cesare lived in the future; Alexander lived in the past. She clung to the present as tightly as she could because she feared the future and feared even more of falling into the past.


	12. Chapter 12

Lucrezia was combing her hair when a messenger was brought to her door. Sancia and Giulia were laughing about some jest.

"Duchess, the illustrious Duke Alfonso was attacked. He rests now in the Borgia Tower."

"Who sent you?"

"Duke Valentinois."

"Will he live?" Her fear showed in the pallor of her cheeks.

"I do not know. He said it was not likely." They raced up the steps, hands clutching their gowns as they entered the place where Alfonso lay. Cesare, arms crossed, stood near the window that viewed the gardens below.

"What happened?"

"He was attacked by masked assassins on St. Peter's steps. Who knows the reason?"

"Have you caught them?" Sancia demanded as Lucrezia knelt beside Alfonso's prostrate body.

"Some witnesses stated that the four men fled down the steps," Cesare informed gravely. "The rest is pure speculation, but apparently they were escorted by some horsemen out of the city through the Pertusa Gate."

"Why do you not go after these assailants?" Sancia protested, trying to see his eyes in the little slits of the mask he wore.

"We've sent men. Who knows if they will be caught? Let's pray Alfonso lives rather than worry over the assassins."

"You don't pray, Cesare Borgia, and even if you did you'd ask for his death instead! We all know Naples isn't your ally anymore and Borgias don't keep useless toys around."

He whirled on her, brown beacons shining in the black featureless mask. "Think before you speak another word, Sancia."

"Sancia," Giulia touched her shoulder, "Don't cast blame yet. Think on Alfonso, he lies like one on the verge of death. Give him smoothing words and he might recover."

"You can't stand to see Lucrezia married!" Sancia spat at his feet and turned, hurrying to Alfonso's side. His eyes remained closed and his body motionless as she took his hand.

Giulia met his eye, her look speculative. Cesare shrugged stiffly, trying to release the tension in his body.

"His Holiness has made every doctor available to his care. Papal guards will be placed around the chamber to prevent further attack and I am to announce, upon pain of death, that no one bear arms between Castel Sant'Angelo and the Vatican."

"You and His Holiness have acted quickly."

"We want him to recover. Does he seem as if he will?"

"How many wounds has he suffered?"

"Three. The head, the right arm, and his knee."

"I hope he lives for Lucrezia's sake."

"So do I," realizing only later how that statement sounded.

* * *

><p>Cesare frowned, dropping the quill into the ink and leaning away from his correspondence to Charlotte. He wrote her often to express his affection, knowing the love she described in her letters was earnest, and to ask after their daughter Louise.<p>

Michelotto entered and paused, seeing his contemplative mood.

"The work?"

"Done to satisfaction. That is one Cardinal who will not live to see next year."

"Do you think Alfonso will live?"

"He is young and strong; there is no reason to suppose not. His health seems to be returning."

"Good."

"The question remains, in many minds including my own, whether you want him to."

"You ask brashly, Michelotto, if I'd not known you for so long I'd have you on the rack for that."

"Excuse my presumption, Duke."

"I want Alfonso to live, in every sense of the word, friend. He is an important ally, even if the gossipmongers are too dense to realize that."

"Does Lucrezia love him?"

"No. If she did…" He met his eyes, "I might have wanted him dead, but her heart, as has always been the case, is mine."

"That is good."

"Yes."

"The Florentine secretary of the chancery has written to congratulate you on your new title of Gonfalonier of the Church."

"Florentine secretary," he seeped his fingers, "is that the one called Niccolò Machiavelli?"

"Yes."

"Bring me what he writes; I enjoy reading his letters. He's a learned man and I always find myself wondering what he thinks. I cannot tell if he scorns or esteems me."

Michelotto fetched the letter as Cesare sat frowning. In public he kept his morose nature hidden; in private he was far less jovial about everything unless he was constantly surrounded by good company. His thoughts often took ill turns when he was left to his own devices.

He lifted a mirror off the wall. He'd had them all covered for fear he'd catch a glimpse of his scarred face. He knew he was vain, but couldn't bring himself not to care about his looks. Ever since he'd been a boy he'd been praised for his beauty; even Vannozza and Rodrigo who preferred their other children had doted on his handsome features and athletic build. Lucrezia hadn't helped his vanity much; she loved anything that was easy on the eye.

Lucrezia loved him even deformed as he was and Rodrigo, though not willing to view his face without powders, was still proud of him. That meant something, didn't it? Who really cared what courtesans, women of court, or ambassadors and priests thought of his looks? Half the clerics of Rome had the French Disease too.

He was still turning these poisonous doubting thoughts over when Michelotto returned, wondering as he took the offered letter why he was concerned about his looks when the people who didn't matter were the ones who cared. The world was a strange place and things rarely made sense. He let the thoughts go for now as he opened Machiavelli's missive.

When he was done he stood and beckoned Michelotto to follow. He adjusted the gold and navy mask upon his face and left his apartments to go to the Borgia Tower.

When he entered Alfonso's chamber he was surprised to find the man sitting. The weeks had done wonders to his health. King Federigo had sent his own physician, Galieno to see to his illegitimate son's health. Sancia and Lucrezia had rarely left him alone and Cesare wasn't so callous that he expected his sister to grace his bed regularly given her husband's precarious position. Lucrezia may not have loved Alfonso, but she cared for him nonetheless.

"How is he?"

Galieno shuffled over to him, "He should make it as long as no further attack commences. He's a strong man, Duke." He heard the underlying accusation in the man's voice.

"Good news then." He approached the bed.

"What are you doing here?" Sancia, no doubt poisoned by Galieno and rumor, demanded as she rose from beside Alfonso. Lucrezia, Sancia, and Alfonso had been in the middle of a dice game.

"Who's winning?"

"Alfonso," Sancia snapped haughtily.

"Sit with us, Cesare," Alfonso beckoned, good humor in his voice if not in the piercing gaze he set upon him. "You haven't visited me once since I was sent here. I grow bored with only women and the doctor daily."

"Does the Pope visit?"

"Occasionally."

"That is kind of him," he sat on the edge of the bed since Lucrezia and Sancia took up the sides.

"Bring some wine, Galieno," Alfonso smiled and reached for the dice. "Let's see who wins, Duke?"

"I am sure you will." They threw a couple hands and Alfonso's winning steak serving him well.

"What do you intent to conquer next?" His brother-in-law asked, all graciousness in his gestures and words.

"I plan to make for Pesaro next," he admitted, throwing a bad hand. He handed the dice off to Sancia. "Giovanni Sforza has too long kept his dominion under his tyrannical rule."

"I wasn't aware he was a tyrant, but I suppose you are a good judge of character."

"You ever met Sforza?"

"No."

"Hope you never do. An insufferable sort of coward. Not like yourself. You've survived to see another day, Duke, and that is good news. I hope if ever I am attacked I may say the same."

"Do you intend to say long?" Lucrezia hadn't spoken a word since he'd entered.

"If it pleases all of you to stand my company then yes. I find work grows tedious."

"What kind of work?" Her inquisitive look amused him. She knew full well his intentions for the Romagna.

"Planning for the conquest of Pesaro and Rimini."

"Rimini too? Poor Pandolfaccio."

"You sympathize with tyrants?"

"No, I sympathize with people who suffer at the hand of one." He ignored the barb and instead focused his glance on Galieno as he approached with the wine. He moved to Alfonso first and then to Sancia.

"Duke of Bisceglie," he accepted the wine as Galieno gave the last chalice to Lucrezia. "To your continued good health!" He raised the cup to his lips and paused, noting how intently Alfonso was watching him. "Are you not going to touch your goblet?"

"Of course," Alfonso as his victory neared had forgotten he had to drink his own.

"I suggest something," he set his goblet on his knee, "Let us not drink this wine. It is inferior quality I am sure. I'll send Michelotto to fetch better wine."

"It is rather bad," Lucrezia piped up, having already sipped hers.

"I don't think so," Sancia added.

"Michelotto."

"I prefer the wine we have already," Alfonso said, glaring at Michelotto.

"There is one thing, Duke," he stated primly, "you do not do when you are trying to kill someone. You do not let your eagerness show." He let the wine in his cup spill upon the floor of the chamber. Lucrezia gave a startled noise as Sancia indignantly glared at him.

"You would know, wouldn't you," Alfonso growled. "You were as courteous as could be expected before I was attacked. We did that whole farce of a bullfight. I slew your bull, you killed mine. The people loved it. To think this is how it will end…"

"Alfonso," Lucrezia leapt from the bed as if it was consumed in hellfire. "Tell me you did not!"

"Michelotto," his shadow crept forth from the door. "Take the good doctor with you and find where he acquired his special wine."

"Yes, Duke. Come along man," Michelotto, hand firmly on Galieno's arm with his other on the hilt of his stiletto, led him out.

"What cued you off?"

"Nearly everything. Your malice filled eyes, your rigid manner, and your friendly voice. Sancia wasn't much better at concealing it. The doctor was from Naples too. You kept staring at my goblet and didn't bother with you own. I would have thought Naples had taught you a thing or two about poisoning."

Lucrezia, standing between the two of them, looked on the verge of hysteria.

"Sit before you faint, Lucrezia," he bit out, "Relax. I don't intend to avenge the failed attempt on my person."

"Lair," Sancia, hands digging into her gown, glared openly.

"I don't lie, I am not Alexander. Sit, Sancia, before you make me restrain you. For God's sake this is all nonsense."

"Is it?"

"I have no intention of killing you, Alfonso, nor did I order the attack on you. It was probably Colonna or Orsini; both are well known enemies and have been alarmingly quiet lately."

"Just like Juan, eh, Orsini did it. Bullshit!" Alfonso clutched his sheets, looking pale. He met Sancia's eye; she turned her gaze away.

"Everyone needs to remain calm. Use your sense, if I had wanted you dead you'd be in your grave. I wouldn't bother with an assault at that time of day anyway. Dusk really? No, in your bed or through poison maybe. I don't kill men nearly as much as you think I do and certainly not my own brother."

"Prove it!"

"I can't or I would have cleared my name long ago. One thing you should think on, Alfonso, if I'd killed Juan why leave behind his purse with thirty ducats? I'm skilled at murder, right? Why leave something like that behind when it would lead people off my trail? It was someone not acquainted with murder or else an imbecile. I am neither correct?"

"But you ordered the murder."

"I thought I was supposed to be present? The golden spurs identified me, right? I haven't any spurs like that nor did any see me in that kind before the attack."

"Piss face lying sack of―." He stammered the rest as he lowered his mask and met Alfonso's horrified stare.

"Surprised? No one said this disease was attractive. Look me in the eye and tell me you think I want you dead." The Prince of Naples looked away, fiddling with his hands. "I will make myself clear. I've no intention of harming you whatsoever. I am leaving, but I will return at a later date to see how you are."

Michelotto followed him out, "Duke?"

"What?"

"He tried to kill you and might have even succeeded had you not noticed his behavior. Are you really going to let this go?"

"Lucrezia cares for him and I don't like unnecessary bloodshed. It does amuse me though how few people pay attention to detail. Every gruesome act since Juan's death, like Caterina's rape, has been attributed to me. Even worst is that people believe it."

* * *

><p>He walked the gardens below the Borgia Tower, looking for a suitable spot. The place was plentiful in pretty flowers, but he wasn't here to appreciate the beauty of the plants. He spotted the golden head through the window and paused underneath the nearest tree so he could admire.<p>

Michelotto, standing near the entrance, was humming; his own good mood today had, in part, to do with Cesare's own. He was also pleased because a brunette courtesan had been exceptional the night before.

Cesare, never good at loving words, could only watch in adulation as Lucrezia, framed by the window, brushed her luscious locks. He was trying to think of wooing words he'd express later, but he found, as he always was when full of emotion, that he lost his speech. Last night had brought him to a kind of rapture he'd not thought possible to a cynical man such as himself. He conjured up last night vividly; every beautiful inch of feminine flesh, every strand of silky hair, every mutter of loving words had brought a shard of the divine within reach.

He was considering how little time he had to waste adoring her figure from afar when a buzzing sound alarmed him. He leapt away, falling onto his knees, and looked back to find a bolt from a crossbow embedded in the earth. He cursed swiftly as Michelotto, ever watchful, came running to his side. Another bolt fired and this time hit his shoulder. He ran from the garden, noting in the window as he fled a swaying figure strongly resembling Alfonso. Lucrezia no longer sat before the window.

* * *

><p>"What the hell where you thinking?" She demanded, alarmed that he had tried a second time to kill her brother.<p>

"Don't look so shocked," Alfonso moved away from the window and threw the crossbow into the wardrobe behind the clothing. He stumbled towards the bed, breath coming fast. "That tired me out."

"Did you hit him?"

"In the shoulder I think."

Her hand went to her mouth as tears formed at the corner of her eyes, "Seriously?"

"I doubt it's a mortal wound. Damn, I use to have such good aim."

"Alfonso, you are my husband and he's my brother, stop this nonsense. If you've killed him…"

"Don't look at me like that. He started this and I won't let him finish it."

"He had no intention to, he said that, but now you've given him one. Oh, Alfonso…" Trembling she left the room. Galieno and Sancia were coming up the stairs as she descended.

"Galieno?"

"Yes, Duchess?"

"Walk with me." She moved soundlessly, looking to Galieno like a determined virago. He'd seen Caterina Sforza in the Belvedere Palace through a window and now, the sweet, innocent Duchess was all but gone. There was nothing of the gentle natured, youthful, and courtly knowledgeable girl he'd seen in the last few weeks.

"Do you still have some of that poison left?"

"Michelotto," he crossed himself, "took it."

"Can you get more?"

"Certainly."

"How long will it take? I've little time."

"I can acquire some this evening."

"Bring it to me secretly. I do not want Sancia or Alfonso to know of this. Tell no one."

"Who do you intend?"

"Does it matter? Just make sure it works." She took some of his bandaging material and left.

* * *

><p>Cesare cursed as his physician worked, wrapping the linen around his torso and shoulder. Michelotto, standing anxiously near the door, announced that Lucrezia had arrived. He nodded his head, finding words hard and waited for her to enter. She was as lovely as a summer morning. Her powder blue gown against the light skin of person warmed him on sight. He wondered if the wine had a part in the heat he felt sufficing his stomach and neck. He bid her over and thanked his doctor, informing Michelotto to give him a handful of ducats for his quick work.<p>

"Cesare," she sat beside him, unreadable emotion in her unusual eyes.

"Don't worry, I'll live."

"That's good. I brought some bandages."

"Come by later and bandage me. I'd prefer your soft touch to the physician."

"I will."

"Alfonso did this."

"I know. I thought he wanted to test his strength. I didn't think he meant to injury you."

"Let's give it no more thought."

"You'll kill him now I suppose."

"Let's not speak of terrible deeds."

"I don't want you to kill him. I cherish every moment with him. You know I play him the flute often while he's been up there and he always praises me. He really is a good man; he wouldn't have hurt you if he didn't fear for his life."

"Stop."

"I want to protect him. I was as naive to the world as him before I knew your embrace."

"Are you saying I've exposed you to the world?"

"I like seeing the world as it is. I can't return to the black and white view of a child. The world is continual compromise, pain, depravity, death." Her voice shook and her hands moved restlessly over her dress, flattening what didn't need it. "There are such few joys in this world. Alfonso brings me joy."

"I know."

"Then don't take him from me. Rethink this."

"I can't trust that he won't try and succeed a third time. I forgave the first because of his youth, but I can't do it again."

"Why can't you just let him go? He's done nothing to deserve this. So what if his political value has waned and he carried out a few reckless attacks. He doesn't mean real harm. He's a boy playing at being a man. Let him go."

"I can't."

She stood when he tried to touch her hair, "Why must you kill everyone I love? Pantasilea, Pedro, and Juan. Now you mean to take Alfonso from me."

He winced at the last name; he had never thought to defend himself to her about Juan's murder. "I never killed Juan. I think you should leave."

She glared at him, her face stark white before fleeing. She ran up the stairs to Alfonso's chamber. He lay with his eyes closed, listening to Sancia babble about nothing. She lay down beside him, stroking his face and kissing his eyelids.

* * *

><p>"The potion," Galieno handed her the powder. Her hands trembled as she poured the poison into the jug. She stirred the mixture, making sure no sign of it was visible in the deep red liquid.<p>

"Thank you, Galieno," she handed him some ducats.

"Will the Duke need me tonight?"

"No. He was sleeping restfully last I checked. Sancia was with him. Take some time for yourself. The hunchback may have tonight off too."

"Thank you, Duchess, that is very generous."

She walked up to the Borgia Tower. Alfonso slept peacefully, face soft in the glow of the candlelight. Sancia lay with her arms crossed and her head resting on them. She touched her shoulder.

"Lucrezia?"

"I'll watch Alfonso tonight. Go rest."

"I could use some sleep. I haven't been this tired since that night I bedded the Spaniard Carlos." She smiled, grateful for Sancia's antics even at this dismal hour.

She set the wine aside and lay with her head against Alfonso's neck.

* * *

><p>Cesare ascended the steps with Michelotto and four guards. He knocked upon the door to Alfonso's chamber, waiting for movement inside. Sancia pushed the door open, eyes widening when she saw them. She screamed as Michelotto used his bulk to push against the door. Sancia was considerably weaker and fell to her knees. Cesare entered right behind Michelotto. Lucrezia, the hunchback, and Galieno were huddled near Alfonso's bed.<p>

"We are taking the hunchback and the physician in for questioning," Cesare stated.

"What for?" Sancia wailed.

"The attempt on my life several days ago. What's wrong with Alfonso? Has he no words?"

"He is dead," Galieno's saddened look was truth enough. Alfonso was deadly pale and his chest wasn't moving Cesare realized as he examined the man further then a brief glance.

"What happened?"

"That is what I want to know," Sancia screamed, lunging at him with her fists. He ignored her weak punches to examine the room more closely. "Go inform the Pope," he told Lucrezia who left, dragging Sancia unwillingly behind her.

He approached Galieno who stared fearfully up into his face.

"What happened?"

"I've only one deduction, Duke," the Neapolitan fell to his knees. "Do not hurt me for saying this."

"I swear you will not be harmed. Now what happened here?"

"The Duchess came to me a few days ago and asked me to get her some poison. I inquired who she intended to use it on, but she did not give an answer. Now Alfonso is dead and the poison is there," he pointed to the jug sitting on the table beside the bed. He approached the wine. The goblet was half drunk. It appeared no one had touched the rest in the jug.

"Get an animal to test this, Michelotto." A scrappy, half-starved hound was brought in and Cesare, pouring the wine onto the ground, watched as he lapped it up hungrily.

"How long does it take?"

"Ah…"

"Well?"

"It's arsenic, aconite, and hellebore…"

"King, Queen…and jester," Cesare chuckled, the jester part wasn't a name for hellebore, but it suited the picture he was expressing. "You know your devilish trade, Galieno."

Cesare picked up some cards off the table and he and his men sat down to play. Lucrezia, followed promptly by a frantic Sancia, entered during their second round.

"I think I've figured out what happened to Alfonso, Sancia," he said simply, throwing his cards down. He had a bad hand anyway. "He was poisoned."

"Isn't that obvious," she'd been crying.

"I do wonder at it since only you and Lucrezia prepared his food."

"What are you implying, you devil from hell?"

"That one of you poisoned him."

"I wouldn't poison my own brother; I'm not fratricidal like you!"

He laughed, rising from his seat, glaring at her furiously. They both knew her words were disingenuous; in grief Sancia lost her reason. He calmed down, dismissing Sancia, Galieno, and his own men. He ordered Michelotto and the men to seize the body and transfer Alfonso's corpse to the Chapel of Santa Maria della Febbre.

Lucrezia met his eyes, both knowing he knew the truth of Alfonso's death.

"It seems I am saddled with another death to my long list of murders," he mumbled.

"It would seem so."

"All of Christendom will say I murdered him. That Michelotto strangled him."

"You had every intention of having Michelotto strangle him anyway."

"True, but only because he insisted on attacking me and conspiring against our family. Did you know he was in contact with key enemies?"

"Who?"

"Della Rovere."

"That is not surprising."

"Why did you kill him if you knew I had every intention of doing so myself? And when you cared for him…I don't understand."

"He was trying to kill you. Is that not reason enough?" She rubbed at her face as tears gathered. "I am a murderess, just as they say I am. God won't forgive my sin, not this time."

He gathered her into his arms, kissing her neck and muttering soothing words. "Who cares for God? God's command against sin is impossible to follow, love, especially in a world where people are vile and you want to live."

"I just didn't want you to die," she sobbed, her body trembling against him. "I didn't want Alfonso to die… I don't want anyone to suffer because of me." He held her as she was overwhelmed by her tears, touching her hair smoothingly and saying nothing because there was no words he knew that could bring comfort.

* * *

><p>"You really intend to go to Nepi?" He asked as she went about her room picking things up and giving them to servants when she wanted them taken to Nepi.<p>

"I am sick of being in Rome, is that not understandable to you, Duke?" He scowled at her ill temper.

"I can understand, Lucrezia, but…"

"But nothing. Father complains constantly of my weeping fits. Is it not best this way?"

"I would not have you go."

"I need to mourn."

"You speak like a woman in love whose heart has shattered. Am I to believe you loved him?"

"I need to pretend to mourn then, is that better? For God's sake Cesare I…I murdered him."

He waved the servants out; knowing they only thought her words symbolic. If Alfonso had stayed in Naples instead of returning at her pleas he might have lived.

"There was nothing you could have done. Alfonso dug his grave no matter what. You merely gave him a kinder death than the cord Michelotto would have strangled him with."

"Kinder?" She laughed and began weeping once more. He reached for her shoulder, but she pulled away. "You would touch me when my husband has not lain even a month in his grave?"

"I touched you while you were still married. I sincerely doubt bedding a widow is worse."

"I hate you and I hate myself."

"You don't mean that."

"I do."

"You are distressed, but you will come around when you are feeling better."

"I need to mourn the sweet man I killed. How do you never regret all the people you've ordered murdered?"

"I don't think on them… I try not to." He shifted his weight uncomfortably. "It helps no one, particularly me, to mourn the death of enemies. Alfonso was a good man, but he is of no account now that he is gone. We should not waste our thoughts on the dead, just as we should not on the past."

"I will go to Nepi and return when I see fit to do so. I will take little Rodrigo with me."

"And I will continue my conquests."

"Good."

"Don't hate me for the cruelty of this world, Crezia," he left, feeling worse than ever for the things he put the person he loved best through.

* * *

><p>"She writes that she is the most unfortunate woman alive," Rodrigo waved away the wine bearer. "Can you believe that Cesare? She is being ungrateful."<p>

"She is being tender hearted Lucrezia, Father, nothing more."

"Alfonso was useless."

"I agree and he tried twice to kill me. Lucrezia is simple minded, Your Holiness, you know that. She forgives sins and loves openly; she has done no more than usual. This time it just happens to be a friend turned traitor."

"Never should have married any of my children into Naples. Worst than Sforza this Aragon House. I mean really Sancia's behavior of late is exceeding her usual concupiscence."

"Her increased salacious actions are her way of forgetting about Alfonso's death."

"What of the way she's been treating you and me? I've never been so offended in my life."

"Aren't you the one always saying people are free to speak their minds? Folio for example."

"It is all fine and well on vellum, but to my face, especially during Papal ceremonies or during discussions with the cardinals, makes me a fool in the eyes of the world."

"What would you have me do? Send her back to Naples?"

"Better yet lock her in Castel Sant'Angelo." He scowled at the idea. Caterina was imprisoned there by Alexander's orders under the claim she had tried to escape. He didn't doubt Caterina had, but Sant'Angelo was no place for a woman. He would not let another woman be locked up and mistreated there.

"Never!"

"You propose a better idea that works, Cesare, and I will consider it. Naples or imprisonment is what I suggest we do with her though."

"Let me think on it."

* * *

><p>The poisoning of Lucrezia's second husband is pure fabrication for plot. I'm trying not to depict Lucrezia as a helpless unwilling pawn of her family, but I'm equally trying to shy away from her being villainous. I feel like if she did exist she was probably in between the two extremes. They say there's no smoke without fire, right? I also wanted an excuse for her to poison someone without having to add a whole side plot. Typically Cesare is given as murdering Alfonso for his political uselessness and sometimes a motive of jealousy over Lucrezia is given. Cesare even confessed to killing Alfonso after his 'supposed attack' in the garden. As for Alfonso and Sancia trying to poison Cesare that is not historically accurate; it just seems like if he was trying to kill Cesare he'd try being sneaky first and then outright attacks. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. RR.<p> 


	13. Chapter 13

It was raining in Pesaro when he arrived at the gates. The town's council offered him the keys and he entered, conqueror of the place Lucrezia had once dwelled in. He was surprised at how the people lined the street and cheered his coming. Pesaro, like Imola and Forli before it, opened readily for him. The cities of the Romagna were sick of their tyrants and wanted someone to liberate them. He was that liberator in the eyes of the common people.

He settled in the Sforza Palace, wondering as he walked the halls what Lucrezia had found so terrible in Pesaro. He then recalled how Giovanni had beaten her and scowled. He tried to imagine Lucrezia as Countess of Pesaro, of her spending her days inside these walls and found his imagination ill-suited for it. All he could think of was Sforza striking her lovely flesh.

As he lay in bed that night, he thought of Lucrezia laying underneath Giovanni or enduring his rough blows. He imagined her crying and felt sick to his stomach.

He walked to the door to his chamber, only to find Michelotto and Ramiro de Lorqua outside.

"What is this?"

"Can't sleep, Duke?" Ramiro, always informal, but a good assassin and military man, asked.

"I have a hard time sleeping where I know my sister and that pitiful Sforza did. What the hell are you two doing outside my chamber?"

"Plotting murder," Michelotto's twisted smile amused Cesare. That was his bleak humor coming out.

"I am hoping not mine."

"Certainly not," Ramiro chuckled, "that would be to our detriment too, Duke, and besides we are loyal men."

He knew Michelotto was loyal, but he sometimes wondered on Ramiro. He shrugged, "I can't sleep in this infernal room."

"Come play cards with me, Duke?"

A sudden thought occurred to him as he was about to accept the offer. Why would two grown men, if not plotting, be outside his apartment discussing in hushed words?

He laughed. Michelotto and Ramiro had never seen him laugh so hard. He clutched his sides and shook with the intensity of his laugher. Both assassins' were starting to think their employer was going mad.

"Is my offer so lowly as to result in such laugher?"

"There are many things, Ramiro, that disgust me. For instance the idea of Giovanni and Lucrezia bedding down together or my father and Giulia, but for god's sake Michelotto I never took you for a…" He started laughing with renewed gusto.

Michelotto, realizing what he was hinting at, was not laughing.

"You have this entirely wrong, Cesare," he rarely addressed him by name only because Michelotto felt uncomfortably being that familiar with a man so highly ranked above him. Cesare wouldn't have minded given their long history together he knew. The seriousness of the situation dictated that he must however.

"Oh, Michelotto, you needn't lie. We've been through so much together that you know me better than any man alive. You know my darkest secret, which you've never aired to the world, so you can tell me if you two are lovers."

Ramiro looked on the verge of death his embarrassment was so great. "Duke, you are off your mark entirely. I like women."

"Sure you do."

"I speak truth."

"It is nothing to be ashamed of. I once thought about it as a means to forget about a woman…. Forget what I just said."

"Cesare," Michelotto looked ready to burst with laughter.

"I said I thought about it, not acted on it."

"Still."

"Shut up."

"Who did you think of?"

"I always thought you were that sort…"

"Me?" His face betrayed more emotion than most people ever saw on him in a whole year.

"I said shut up. Let's forget I ever spoke. Dismiss this conversation from your minds; better yet erase it. Stop looking at me with that aghast expression, Michelotto, or I will hurt you. Goodnight."

"No cards then…"

"Another less humiliating time, Ramiro."

"Wonderful, I'll be waiting excitedly for that.

"You do sound of that sort, Ramiro, when you talk like that," he heard Michelotto say as he went back into his quarters.

Visiting the citadel in the morning he was surprised at the reception he was given. Trumpets were sounded and heralds officially greeted him as Lord of Pesaro. He was pleased with the day, trying to forget the odd conversation of the previous night.

He ordered painters to draw up plans of the fortress and sent them to the Pope. He also issued instructions for repairs the following night, finding he could sleep little while in Pesaro. He left Pesaro after two days, leaving a lieutenant and a garrison captain behind.

The army had stopped before the banks of the Montone River. The river had swollen with rain and the bridge had been destroyed in the process. A small vessel, the only available given the circumstances, was being fought over. Cesare scowled as Michelotto reported the incident.

"Am I surrounded by children?"

"They act like it."

"Let me go take care of it then. The captains clearly are not cut out to handle it." He rode down to the river by himself, leaving Michelotto behind with the other condottiero. He rode before his squabbling men without a word; gracing a calm, cold glance to each solider he passed. He moved a little ways down the bank; yet close enough for his presence to be felt and watched as they orderly boarded the boat and took turns to get all across safely.

He marched to Rimini and took the city as easily as he had taken all of them thus far. He recalled the exiled by Pandolfaccio, a more unscrupulous fellow was rarely found, and reinstated their property which the former tyrant had taken. He hired administers to keep the peace and deliver justice and appointed Ramiro de Lorqua as his lieutenant.

* * *

><p>October came and he halted at Nepi. Alexander was bothering him about Lucrezia's absence from Rome in his letters and he was concerned himself for her welfare. He was surprised at the state she held here. Her court was meager, her ladies all drab creatures and her men all joyless old priestly types. He was met by Lucrezia at the feast for the first time since her departure at the end of August.<p>

Her entire outfit was black, striking against her pale skin and joyless expression. She wore a veil which she didn't lift to greet him. She sat after the formal greeting, earthen ware signifying her widowhood instead of polished metal for her plate and cup. The lack of music was depressing too.

He frowned deeply, thinking this was hell if ever such a place existed. Seeing her spirits so low was heart breaking. He ordered Michelotto, Vitelli, and others to sit as he watched Lucrezia intensely. Had everything he'd done in the name of Borgia brought them to this point? Had every action he'd undertaken been in vain? How could he find joy in his victories and pleasure in life if the woman he loved more than himself suffered a woeful existence? Was Italia worth the torment of his beloved sister?

He ate little and laughed less. The longer she sat veiled, gesturing meekly and speaking softly like a woman in pain the angrier he became. He clutched the arm rests of his chair, watching her lean over to a nearby lady and talking mildly to her before taking a small dainty bite. Her manners were more reserved than he had ever seen them. He was used to warm, noisy, and easily excited Lucrezia; even during the worst times she had retained some spark of life which moved him beyond measure. Seeing her like this was like facing his own living death.

He flung his chair back as he stood, glaring with all the anger and outrage he felt inside.

"Get that earthen ware out of my sight. Take it away! Get her a proper dish and cup." He stormed over to her side of the table, ignoring all the stunned women and concerned men. He tore her veil off, eliciting a scream from her as he yanked roughly. He knelt at her feet, outrage increasing at the black encased bun which covered her golden locks. He worked it off as she tried desperately to repel him. No one else moved and when they made to stop him his hand clutched the hilt of his sword and he threatened to hang them.

He threw the bun covering to the floor and took all the earthen ware off the table and flung it mercilessly against the wall, liking the noise it made when it shattered. He was breathing heavy when he stopped, glancing around the table of astonished faces without any recognition in his eyes.

"I will not have a Borgia reduced to such a pitiful state as this," he spat, grabbing her shoulder when she made to rise and flee. "You will sit, Lucrezia, and you will entertain me and my men as a proper lively hostess. Later if you are feeling better, which I implore you to be, you will dance for us."

"I will not dance."

"Then you will stay for revelries and sit next to me."

"I would rather riot beside Juan," her gaze was bitterly defiant. He was reminded that Lucrezia still thought him the one responsible.

"I can arrange that," he let her go and walked back to his seat. He put his feet on the table and glared across the food at her as he leaned back into his chair. "Bring my sweet pleasant sister some food."

"Find me different earthen ware for a brute destroyed them as he does everything." They glared, two stubborn Borgias, locked in fierce combat. No one dared say a word for the next several minutes.

* * *

><p>Cesare threw himself in his despairing rage at the nearest object in his guest quarters. He grabbed the table and flung it across the room, cheering mentally as it slammed into the wall. He picked it up, bashed it against the floor, and flung the splintering wood into the wardrobe. He was trembling when Michelotto opened the door.<p>

"What's going on in here, Duke?"

"Nothing."

"Should I cancel all your appointments this evening?"

"Please do. Make sure we are ready to march out tomorrow."

"As you please."

"Send for Lucrezia."

"I do not think that wise in your temperamental state. Earlier was enough of a scandal."

"One of few I partake of. Bring her here. I must speak to that…" He paused and slumped against the chair. "Just tell her to come," all the anger evaporated like steam from him.

"If you remain calm."

"I am now."

"I will stand outside the door."

"I won't hurt her."

"I trust you not to, Duke, but you can be violent without causing bodily harm."

He sat sipping wine and trying to forget the evening. He had only treated Lucrezia that aggressively once and he had tried ever since to never do so again. He ran a hand over his face, wondering what Alexander would have said had he seen the spectacle. He didn't doubt that even now one of his father's spy's was composing a letter with the event detailed.

Lucrezia was half dragged in by Michelotto and another trusted Spaniard. He waved them both out and regarded her somber appearance with frustration. Her clothing from earlier had been disregarded in favor of a light weight chemise and earthen colored overgrown. Her hair was pinned up and covered by a veil.

"What do you want? To add insult to your injury?"

"No." He stood slowly, fearing every heavy step as he knelt at her bare feet. He kissed the tops of each foot and the hem of her cotehardie. No Borgia, he thought peevishly, had probably ever done such a humble action. "Forgive me."

"For what," her heartbreaking concern was enough to give him courage to continue.

"For many sins, but most of all hubris of my accomplishments and vanity."

"I'd forgive you if I thought you were honest and more than that meant to refrain from your sins."

"I make no promises. Hubris is my greatest fault and suffered, mind you, by many great heroes of earlier ages. My vanity of my own beauty is completely tarnished due to this curse I suffer for it. I learned my lesson there." He met her gaze, "it is not purely for myself alone I am vain."

"I know." He kissed her feet and ankles, wishing he didn't have to leave her presence to go to war. Even her bleak countenance stimulated him.

"Stop," she admonished when his kisses turned frenzied. He did as she commanded, watching as she set her veil aside and took his face between her hands. "Come and sit with me."

"Lucrezia," he held her hand as she led him to the chair.

He sat down and she curled her warm, feminine body into his, head falling lightly on his shoulder like times long past. He enclosed her in his arms, stroking small patterns into the skin of her wrist and arm.

"Do you really think I killed Juan?"

"No."

"You bring it up every time you get angry."

"I know. I do it because it hurts you. I'm sorry. I know how loyal to us you are. You would never hurt a family member, even obnoxious Juan."

"I never told anyone, but I feel I must tell you."

"Tell me what?" Her anxiety was written all over her lovely face.

"Juan was killed by―." Her fingers pressed to his lips.

"Don't tell me please. This is one thing I'd prefer to remain ignorant about."

"It's not me."

"I believe you," her expression said she did.

"I'll take it to my grave unless you change your mind."

"I do not think I will anytime soon. When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow. I've waited too long already to resume my campaign. Return to Rome soon. Father has been constantly nagging me about you."

"I'll think about it. Will you stay with me tonight?"

"As a brother?"

"You know what," she kissed him blissfully across the mouth.

"Lucrezia?"

"What?" They lay before the fire, entwined in fur and limps. His body was damp with sweat and his hair stuck uncomfortably against his neck. Her eyes, beautiful pearls into her soul, he thought, had never gleamed brighter.

"I have been thinking about Giovanni."

"You have?"

"Yes. He should be brought to Rome and more than that…I'd like to view him not as Pedro's son, but my own. If we had realized sooner he might have been."

She smiled and kissed him, "Giovanni is a Borgia."

"I will make him ruler over the Italia before I die."

"I know you will. Thank you."

* * *

><p>He paused at Forli for a spell after leaving Nepi, to let the troops indulge their carnal pleasures to keep them happy. He didn't let any of his men rape the townswomen for rape reminded him of Sforza and he could not bear the thought of Lucrezia's torment. The soldiers only got pleasure if they paid for it. Keeping his men in line was important for two reasons; they would understand discipline which was good in situations like at the river crossing and the town's people would adore him for the lenience. Pillaging was not allowed either. Pillaging always reminded him of the time Vannozza's home had been pillaged by the French under Charles. Lucrezia said he never thought of the past, but she didn't realize he lived in constant struggle with its repetition.<p>

His next conquest was Faenza. Astorre Manfredi was altogether different than the other tyrants of the Romagna, he was only fifteen or sixteen he wasn't certain, and relied more on a council then his own mind.

He received a report that Vitellozzo Vitelli's horse had gone into the valley of Lamone and captured Brisghella. He followed behind and was pleased with the lack of resistance from the strongholds and townships surrounding Faenza. Naldo, formerly the defender at Imola, helped induce the places to rebel against Manfredi. He stopped on the tenth of November before the walls of Faenza and demanded the town's surrender. He was denied and so the siege began. He set his artillery to work upon a bastion which he thought would be good for an assault. He kept the bombardment up night and day, waiting patiently in the camp. Ten days later one of the towers collapsed into the moat.

Cesare, busy eating breakfast, was alarmed by the news when a solider brought it. Apparently the gusto of the soldiers at the sight of the hole had been great and without any direct orders they had stormed the breach. When he arrived it was evident this was going to be damnably annoying. He ordered, voice thundering, that the men cease. The artillery was still firing, not aware the foot was attacking the breach.

He gained control of the men and ordered retreat. Cesare cursed as a stone-shot fired from the castle and nearly hit him. Some soldiers, seeing the danger and recognizing him as the Duke, circled him.

He reprimanded the troops as they lined up before him. He glared into the face of his foot and reminding himself they were men, not children. He was still shaken up by the close call of death for the third time in his life when news came that officer Onorio Savelli had been shot by a cannon ball from their own guns during the aborted storming. He cursed this unfortunate turn, but reminded himself it was only a misshapen and the future was bright ahead.

The weather, terrible before with fog and rain, brought snow two days later. The snow came as a shock and the blizzard lasted several days. On the twenty-third the camp was attacked by a small band of Faenza and on the twenty-fifth the snow, abating for a blissful moment, started all over again. Realizing the terrible conditions of the men he changed his mind and set up a blockage along with winter camp. The plans of conquering the town immediately may have been delayed, but Faenza would feel the lack of supplies soon.

He spread his men around Faenza and ordered constant attacks on the garrison. He withdrew to Forli with a small force. Not wanting to overtax the citizens he ordered the troops needed only bed, light, and fire and anything else they paid for. To avoid disputes he ordered the Council to draw up a tariff and issued an edict forbidding the taking of the townsfolk's processions. He hanged two men from the window of his own palace with the message explaining their disobedience. He did not tolerate lawlessness.

He remained in Forli a few days before leaving the town in the capable hands of Michelotto and returning to Cesena. Cesena was his capital, he thought, and would be able to handle the amount of troops under him without undue burden.

Cesare, bored and aware Cesena was close to carnival, decided to enjoy his rare leisure time. He disguised himself and went out with a small company to the nearby towns. He laughed and smiled, enjoying his company and the fine Romagna women. They made better company than courtesans.

He laughed when he saw the wrestling taking place and without much prompting indulged himself. He was rarely a man to let gaiety do away with his princely manners, but thought to hell with it for a few nights. He laughed when a big, rowdy man fell before him in stupor during a wrestling bout, proclaiming it impossible for a willowy young brat like him to best him. Carnival, he thought, as he walked and drank with his fellow soldiers, was the perfect time to act frivolous. His thoughts didn't turn to Lucrezia even once, he gratefully noted, during those few days of silly bliss.

* * *

><p>He scowled at the man before him, an envoy from Venice named Manenti. The man had not only a big ego, which needed tending to before it caused him harm, but he was a fool to cast blame at his feet when he had no proof. He hated being blamed for actions he had not committed; he professed as much to the envoy with a chilly glare. The Venetian shrugged, "You've done wrong to the Lady Dorothea Caracciolo and I am here, not to listen to your indignation, Duke, but to retrieve the lady for her husband."<p>

The abduction of Dorothea, the young soon-to-wife of Gianbattista Caracciolo who was a captain of Venice, had reached Cesare for one simple reason. Everyone was casting the blame of her abandonment or abduction squarely on him. The woman, a lady well known to Urbino's rulers, had disappeared on her way to Venice and Cesare, holed up in nearby Imola, was the suspect only because a man in his army had done the deed.

"The Lady Dorothea's unfortunate or not so unfortunate story depending on who you ask has been related to me, envoy." There was talk it was no abduction, but that the lady had willingly run off. "Diego Ramires, a captain of foot in my service, is the suspect you so willingly cast me as. Ramires you see was employed by the Duke of Urbino and during his employment he fell for the lady. Ramires has since left my service of his own will and hidden himself. Once I find him, for my men are out as we speak searching for him, he will suffer for smearing my name however unintentionally it was done."

"I doubt you need any help in that regard, Duke, but do send this Ramires my way if you find him." Cesare ignored the implication in those words and the way Manenti put emphasis on the 'if' of his statement.

"Send my regards to Venice," he dismissed the man, his cold looking making Manenti twitch as he left.

"Should I?"

"No, Michelotto, that would be imprudent and reflect badly on me. I can take some criticism when there is need for it. Manenti is concerned the Lady Dorothea won't be handed over, I can understand that and appreciate his worry. Find this Ramires and bring him to me. I will do more than hang him from my palace like a thief. I take my revenge seriously."

* * *

><p>Ramires was brought forth by some foot soldiers days later. Dorothea, pretty as any woman, was annoying the hell out of him because of all this infernal trouble.<p>

"You are aware, Diego Ramires," he stated firmly, back with clasped hands towards them. "The fact you have taken this woman, who was betrothed to a Venetian that appears to have considerable friends, is troubling. It is beneath my notice however, I have an army to maintain, cities to conquer, and troops who bristle at this situation. I have the city of Faenza, which waits to be conquered and you, through your lusts, slow me down! Worst of all this grievous crime has been wrongly put upon me. How should I treat you, how does justice and the law say you should be treated? What would you do as a solider when one of my own disrupts the whole army?"

"I am sorry, Duke," he fell upon his knees. "My life…my life is yours, Duke."

"Your life has been mine when you joined this army. I want more than that, Ramires. Tell me the reason this…slut has so captivated you that you abandon all reason?" He glanced at Dorothea thoughtfully, wondering what Ramires found worth all the hassle and potentially worth losing his life and honor over.

"If it were lust, Duke, I would take a courtesan." He glanced at Dorothea, who stood still as stone. "It is not lust, no wait that is a lie. It is partly lust, but more than that. Have you never been in love, Duke?"

"Appealing to my sentimentality is rather low," he smiled at Diego, "but not entirely stupid. You say you love this lady, does she feel the same is the question of the day. Lady Dorothea?" He could tell from her wooden gesture and her anxious gaze that she was afraid of him. He marveled at her ability to stand as composed as she was when she thought him the devil in flesh.

"I…" He approached her, touching her bare shoulder. He saw her flinch and try to shy away, but he held her still.

"Do not fear me. I expect women should have no reason to fear me. Have I been given a reputation for lechery or vile molester of young maids that I am not aware of? Michelotto, is there new gossip? One would think incest was as low as my enemies could debase me."

He smiled as the tension slowly melted from her shoulders. "I do not, above all else, treat women ungallantly. I am acutely aware of how easily women have been mistreated by men and wish to rectify this in the Romagna. I allow no criminal to force a woman and expect if he does he will be dealt with swiftly by justice. Here, let me show you," he opened the nearest window and had the lady lean out with him. He pointed to the body hanging out a window. Her stifled gasp didn't deter him.

"That man raped four girls. My own solider before he decided foolishly to break my orders and do as he pleased to some ladies. I paid them handsomely for the brutality they received and fitted them with dowries that would gain them husbands even yet. Now tell me, does that suggest to you I am a brute?"

"No."

"A brute of a different sort perhaps. I use cruelty for good aims, Lady Dorothea. Women I find are more sensitive than men," he shut the window, "less logical based and more emotional. It does not make women inferior as so many scholars claim; it does however making them annoying. What would a man be without a lady's gentleness to quell his bestiality? In a way, a woman, if prudent enough, can a weld a man and thus women are truly the superior race."

"You say woman are gentle and yet proclaim they should use men to further themselves?"

"I say women feign gentleness and such fragile dispositions to entrap men. I do not say all women, Dorothea, but I know a great many at court of that sort. Sancia of Aragon and Giulia Farnese use men to further their ambitions of wealth and lavish lifestyles."

"You dishonor women when you imply this."

"I do not think so, Diego."

"You are a jaded man, Duke," Dorothea stated, holding his hard eyes with her unflinching ones. "Only a man, indifferent to women entirely or spurned by a lover, speaks ill of the other sex so liberally. It is true women can be manipulative, I am prove of that, but I saw, as many women do, no way around the course I was forced into by a man expect a path less than honorable."

"You remind me of a girl I knew once. She spoke of pretty things too." He crossed his arms, frowning into that oval face with bright eyes and soft lashes. "Women bring more pain than pleasure. I am a jaded man; I know many who can attest to it. I've reason to be jaded when faced with this world of ours. Only children think this world an Eden. Real men know it to be Hell. You would do best to forsake this notion of yours. Don't look at me perplexed, girl, you speak words that give the appearance of intelligence, but unfortunately you've no real knowledge. You should forsake all notions of love, faith and devotion. They are tools one welds against foolish enemies and what wise men guard against."

"You are as jaded as I said."

"You think I do not know you, Dorothea, I know you better than yourself. Give Diego a year and he will have found another more attractive young female to love, likely more obliging in bed too. That is how this world works. Love is finite; the only eternal love any person holds is for themselves. Know that and you can master your enemies."

"You say men may be used through love, faith, and devotion, how is that so if they only cherish their own person?"

"Because they stupidly believe they are above selfishness. Since the beginning of mankind man and women have proven repeatedly that they are base and care only for themselves. Men may speak of ideals, women, family, but that is irrelevant. All men beg at the end for mercy, even cowards struck down by the sword for their idiocy. Diego, if handed over to the Venetians, would beg once faced with death. He would forsake you when faced with his own demise."

"I wouldn't."

"Lair," Cesare's smile was arrogant.

"I love her."

"Love is the greatest weakness of all."

"I think its men's greatest strength personally."

"I did not ask your opinion, Michelotto."

"I know. I've brought news, Duke."

"What now?"

"Your illustrious sister Lucrezia―."

"I know this news, Michelotto," earlier this evening he'd received a letter from Rodrigo explaining the situation. "I am aware that Alexander is planning a new marriage for Lucrezia."

"Unfortunate woman," Michelotto somberly crossed himself. "My news on the other hand is a missive from the Lady."

"Lucrezia writes?" He snatched the letter from Michelotto's hand, eyes scanning the vellum thoughtfully.

"Is she still in Nepi mourning?"

"Let me read you insufferable imbecile." The letter started with an inquiry into his current campaign, mention of little Rodrigo's health, and a brief remark about Rodrigo's bridegroom search. She ended the letter by asking if he'd speak to her about Giovanni Borgia or the Roman Infant as people had taken to calling him when he returned to Rome.

"What does she write?"

"She has returned to Rome. She also writes about the Roman Infant."

"He is well then?"

"She has had him brought to her and coddles him she tells me and Alexander dotes on him. I should send him something for he is like a son to me. I will send him something golden. Boy's like showy things, do they not?"

"I suppose they do, your Excellency. What do you intend for these two?"

"Set them up in the palace. I do not mind indulging the occasional stupidity." He smiled at them, "I may seem cold and logical, but I can appreciate those who still cling to sentimentality. I like to be proved wrong sometimes and perhaps you two can prove to me that people really can love others above themselves." He was thinking of Lucrezia as he spoke and the idea that he would now sign his letters 'your brother who loves you better than himself' occurred to him.


	14. Chapter 14

"Lucrezia?" Alexander took the bundle off the nearest table. "Is this the stack I should read?"

"Yes, Your Holiness." Restless after Alfonso's death and yearning for something more fulfilling than petty poets and court life she had taken to opening the Pope's missives for him. Cesare was busy sacking towns and making a state for her and her son and she was twiddling her thumbs.

"You are a speedy reader," Rodrigo was ever the flatterer particularly when it came to his own brood.

"Thank you."

"You've a good eye for what I should consider important too, dear."

"I'm glad you find me helpful."

"I am hosting a feast tonight. Will you come?"

"I may. When is Cesare next returning to Rome?"

"He is secretive in his letters. Spies could get his missives so he writes only things well known. He'll drop by and startle me half to death. Last time he dropped in was at midnight, bless his soul."

"Is there anything else you wanted?"

"I have something I'd like to inform you of."

"What?"

"I am leaving the Vatican shortly to help Cesare take Piombino. I would like you to rule over the Vatican while I am away. It would require you to stay in my apartments and sit in the Chair of St. Peter."

"Me? A woman to sit in as Pope? Have you lost your mind?"

"No. I need someone I trust and who do I trust better than you child? Jofre lacks the skill and intelligence. If you need help in any matter go to Cardinal Costa."

* * *

><p>"I have every intention of naming Lucrezia as ruler over the Vatican while I am away," Alexander stated solemnly to the College of Cardinals and the other gathered people of importance. "I expect her to be treated as regent and―."<p>

He glanced over at Lucrezia, pale and drawn faced, dressed regally and trying to appear worthy of her new found power. Why did he get passed up for everything? He hated being Juan and Cesare's shadow and now Lucrezia, a woman, was allowed the highest spiritual position in all of Christendom over him? Jofre scowled and glanced at his feet. All his life he'd been the fourth and less loved child of Rodrigo and had tolerated it over the years, but he was beginning to feel a terrible sense of dissolution every time he thought of his siblings' usefulness to their father. Rodrigo didn't need him. He was more a financial burden than anything.

Sancia reached over and squeezed his hand, her teeth bright in her face. At least Sancia needed him, if not in the bed chamber, for political stability in the Vatican. He could live with that he thought morosely, squeezing her hand back, and Vannozza loved him too.

* * *

><p>He laughed at the idiotic actions of Giovanni Bentivogli his father reported in his letters. Apparently all the men given the name Giovanni were fools, expect the Roman Infant. Giovanni Bentivogli, Lord of Bologna, was Astorre's grandfather and had apparently foolishly given the boy troops, dispute pressure from Alexander not to support him. Having done this he was now a prime sacrifice to be reaped when Cesare decided to attack Bologna and the French King would no longer tolerate Bentivogli due to his intervention.<p>

Castel Bolognese, located between Imola and Faenza, was a strong impressive fortress. Fearing Cesare's intention as he had so skillful planned, Bentivogli offered him accommodation for his men. Slightly disappointed he couldn't take the fortress, but knowing that fact from the first, he accepted and marched onto Faenza.

Faenza's men were putting up a good fight, much to his annoyance and appreciation. He had his artillery bombarding the citadel, amazed that the resistance continued unabated despite their hopeless case. They must have been low on food and other necessaries of life for some time now. He was even more astonished when he saw women carrying stones that were shortly flung onto his men to repel them and later when women began sentry duty and took up armor.

By April the cannon had opened a breach into the walls and Cesare and his men assaulted the citadel. The fighting was the fiercest he had seen during his campaign. His troops fought valiantly as pitch and stones were hurled by the defenders at them. He only ordered the retreat when dusk fell four hours later.

He grabbed Michelotto's hand and flung his arm across his shoulder, bloody and sweaty though they both were, and declared jovially, "If I had troops of half the courage of those men that hold Faenza I'd have conquered all of Italia by now!"

He didn't attempt another assault, that would have been folly and a waste of good men, but instead contented himself for three days with bombardment.

* * *

><p>"Duke, I've a Faentini who wishes to speak to you," Michelotto informed him days later.<p>

"Send him in." Some Faentini, suffering from hunger and weariness, had deserted to his camp.

"Duke, I am Grammante," he said, shuffling his feet and glancing anywhere but at him. He waved a hand for him to continue, shifting in his chair and reaching for some almonds. This was he speculated bound to be a dull entreaty. "I'm a dyer by trade…well I…I heard you were good to deserts and I'm not really much of a solider and…"

"No need to continue. You are welcome here. Faenza it seems produces only men of valor, whether that determination is directed to securing your own skin who can blame you?"

"I have more to say, Duke. I know there is a point in the citadel where the defenses are lacking. I can show you where and if you attack there you cannot lose."

Cesare spat out the almond he'd just put into his mouth. "Food lacks flavor when you hear distasteful news. You aren't a deserter, man, you are a traitor." He gestured for Michelotto, "See that this man hangs before the walls of the town he tried to betray."

Vitelli, the captain of his horse, spoke up, hands flying dramatically, "Taking Grammante's advice would make a swifter end to this business, Duke. We've waited too long at Faenza when we have other conquests to pursue. Hang Grammante, but not before getting his news." Grammante was trembling and crying beside stone faced Michelotto. He waved them out and they left, much to Vitelli's protestation.

"I make no concession to cowardice, Vitelli, and I'd look absurd if I killed the traitor, took his advice, and conquered Faenza. You do not look ahead; you see only the immediate advantage given you. I see all paths before me and killing Grammante, without taking his traitorous counsel, is the most sensible."

"Why?" Vitelli, a solider and not a statesman's, never understood complicated politics. He could understand if he was willing to put more thought to the matter or if he better understood people. He wasn't sure if Vitelli was slow or lazy.

"Obviously," said Paolo Orsini, "he means to appease Faenza. It is his way of showing his appreciation of their struggle and winning them over when he does take the city. It is saying he is generous, which means Manfredi and his council might offer him terms now. It is victory without bloodshed, clever maneuvering at its best."

"I also mean to show my dislike of traitors to others. They can be useful at times, but now is not the time. Do you see?"

"I do."

"Good. The matter I called you both here for before Grammante entered is about revenge. We all long to right wrongs against us and I see your impatience Vitelli. Have no fear, Florence will not be left untouched."

Vitelli's glee at the subject shift was written all over his smiling face. "Florence killed my brother. I intend to avenge him. That is the reason I entered into your service."

"I know," he reached for some more almonds and offered some with a nod to the men. Paolo refrained as Vitelli took a handful. He munched on them as he spoke, "How do you plan to get at Florence? Are you going to attack that harlot head on?"

"Head on," Cesare laughed, "is not clever and I am as you know a strategic sort. I find brazen actions boring. I desire, Paolo, Vitelli, to test my alliance with Louis and give Florence cause to fear me. With fear comes weakness. I have every intention of laying waste to Florence and through you I can start that. I will let you seize Arezzo after we've taken some more cities and I will give you further instruction after. Make it known you do this without my accord."

Vitelli, eager to begin his vengeance against Florence for killing his brother two years earlier, left with a glowing air about him. His wait wouldn't be much longer.

"Do you have something you want to say Paolo," he smiled his demand with jovial kindness.

"Vitelli will blunder this," Paolo stated simply. "This is not a correct course, Duke. What of the rest of the Romagna?"

"I have made it plain Vitelli will not attack so soon. We need to take a few more cities before we do anything else."

"We haven't even taken Faenza and you are planning the conquest of Tuscany."

"Wise men think ahead. Faenza will fall readily enough in a few days' time. As for the rest of the Romagna cities I've already made plans to capture them."

"Why tell Vitelli now? He's only going to get restless."

"I know."

"But―."

"I do not expect you to understand my plans, Paolo. Be grateful you know as much as you do. Leave." Paolo, annoyed at his lack of disclosure for his reasons, left. Cesare leaned back into his chair, popping almonds into his mouth with satisfaction. Paolo and Vitelli were nicely falling into their roles.

* * *

><p>Faenza, exhausted and with little possibility for further resistance given the state of the citadel, gave in. They sent an ambassador with their terms.<p>

"They actually expect us to accept terms now? We could march right in there and pull that Astorre boy off his chair and throw him from the walls if we were inclined," Vitelli stated with much contempt.

Cesare ignored the man and waved the ambassador to sit. "I thank your Excellency for being reasonable. Faenza has shown the courage and manners," he looked pointed at Vitelli as he spoke, "I had not thought possible of my enemies."

"Thank you for your graciousness, Duke of Valentinois," the man was clearly sweaty and anxiety was written all of over his face. He drabbed at his face with the sleeve of his chemise.

"What are the terms?"

"The people want immunity for themselves and their property."

"An understandable desire. My men are eager to repay the Faentini for their ill welcome, but I am not so inclined. You will have it. Next?"

"That Astorre Manfredi, Lord of Faenza…" He glanced at his feet under Vitelli's glaring eye. Cesare met Vitelli's eyes and his look said he would dismiss him if he didn't stop hassling the ambassador. "The young Lord should be free to depart from Faenza to wherever he should like with all his moveable property of course. The rest is entitled to the Pope."

"We should pillage your bloody town to pay for this waste of a conquest!"

"If you cannot be sensible leave Vitelli."

"I will not be a part of this farce, Duke, excuse me."

"Continue ambassador. I assure you no one else will disrupt. Astorre Manfredi will be given free rein to go wherever he pleases."

"I have nothing further to implore of you, Duke…the people of Faenza are in your debt."

"Is Astorre and Council willing to see me to accept these terms?"

"They are."

"Good. We will see to it immediately. In fact inform them I have no intention of even entering the city. I am sure that will please them and the people greatly."

Astorre Manfredi decided after their meeting that he would join his train of admirers, poets, and important military men. The boy didn't offer much to his train, but he needed the boy close. The people of his city loved him and Cesare wasn't eager to see a revolt yet by leaving the boy to his own devices.

* * *

><p>Cesare, remembering Castel Bolognese, sent an envoy ahead of him to Bentivogli to demand its surrender. The place couldn't be left between two of his cities so carelessly. The Lord of Bologna replied that he and his council must think over the matter. Cesare, smiling, sent Vitellozzo Vitelli to capture Castel S. Pietro and sent others to capture Casalfiuminense, Castel Guelfo, and Medecina. When Giovanni Bentivogli heard from his council of this news he agreed immediately. He would provide him with the Castel Bolognese, concede a stipend of one hundred lances, and lend him assistance for a year against his enemies, excepting the King of France which they were both allied with. Cesare was in turn to give up the strongholds he'd take and that the Pope was to confirm Bentivogli in his privileges. He sent his answer of agreement with Paolo Orsini to Bologna to sign the treaty. The Castel Bolognese would have been more trouble to keep in case of revolt or enemy capture so he ordered Ramiro de Lorqua to demolish it.<p>

Cesare, immensely happy at the easy victory over Bologna's Lord, headed to Rome that following June with Astorre and his bastard brother Gianevangelista Manfredi. On June twenty-six he managed to haggle with Alexander about Caterina's liberation as long as she signed over her fiefs. She agreed, signed the vellum, and withdrew to Florence. As one enemy left he added two new ones to Castel Sant'Angelo.

"Cesare!" Lucrezia smiled and flung her dainty arms around him, moving them in a circle around his apartment. He kissed her across the mouth, remembering how much her presence alone warmed him. "Will you be staying long, brother?" She asked this as his lips trailed down her cheek to her neck.

"I cannot say. I've only come for business and to see to any other immediate affairs before I must return to my conquering."

"Stay a little while. I want to speak to you of Giovanni."

"What about him. He must be three years old now. Getting big I take it."

"Very big," she mumbled as his hands fondled her breasts. He missed touching her, missed the feel of her creamy breasts, slim waist, and long delectable thighs. "Cesare, has His Holiness spoken to you regarding some Papal business and Giovanni?"

"No," he bit the soft flesh of her neck as one of her hands toyed with his codpiece provocatively. He lifted her up onto the table, hoisting her skirts up with yearning, his arousal apparent in the fumbling of his hands. He could barely remember the last time he'd been clumsy with a woman, not since his younger years at Perugia and Pisa, but Lucrezia always ignited silly foolishness in him.

"Alexander wants to issue a Bull regarding Giovanni." His hands paused at the strings of his codpiece. He leaned against the table, meeting her imploring gaze with confusion.

"Why would he want to issue a Bull for Giovanni?"

"To legitimize him."

"He'll issue a Bull doing away with any need for Giovanni's parentage as Sixtus did for me."

"No. He wants to legitimize Giovanni as a Borgia."

"He can't name the boy your son, especially if he wants this d'Este marriage."

"Not my son."

"Who is to be named the parent?"

"He thought at first to name the boy as his and even wrote up the Bull."

"That doesn't handle any inheritance…" He dropped his head, understanding in that instance why they had been so eager to speak to him. "You are going to name him as mine."

"Yours and an unmarried Roman woman. It's the best way. He can't inherit from Alexander because he is Pope and isn't suppose to have children."

"Mine!" He backed away from her, his anger greater than he had ever felt before. "You'd name him mine when in reality he is yours and Pedro's! You dare!" He lunged at the bed, breaking the posts and tearing the sheets off. He tore all the pillows, ripping until his fingers had nothing more to break. He came to where she now stood and with one sweep of his arm sent all the items on the table to the floor.

"You told me you thought of Giovanni as yours. He might have been."

"Might have been does not make him mine." He pushed her away when she reached for him, knocking her onto the floor. "I will not allow this!"

"Alexander has already issued the Bull."

"This is only a formality then," he spat, rocking back and forth on his feet as he glared down at her trembling figure.

"Cesare, Giovanni is my son, mine," her eyes filled with tears. "I love him and I hope for his future. I want more for him than what his father got in the end. Please, do this so Giovanni may have a chance."

"Title and wealth does not a good man make. I thought you'd have learned that from me and Father."

"I'm sorry."

"Was Alfonso d'Este," he crouched down beside her, "picked by you or Father?"

"I felt perhaps with this Alfonso I could make amends for the last. Father was looking at candidates and Ferrara I mentioned to him was closer than France or some of the other suitor's territories. Are you angry with me for this?"

"No," he took her hand and helped her up. He held her face and brushed her tears away with his sleeve. "I should be the one apologizing. My anger at times like this is unpardonable. I have a hard time accepting that time of long ago. The idea that Pedro…and that Giovanni is his, it seems so impossible," he stroked her cheek with great tenderness. "I see Pedro in him and it angers me. I wish every time I looked upon Giovanni that he was mine."

She caressed his cheek, swishing the hair of his beard between her thumb and index finger. He kissed the tips of her fingers, pressing his lips against each top lovingly.

"Pedro may have had my body first, Cesare, but he did not have my heart. I've loved you and no one else. I fear for my marriage. How can I go to Ferrara and live a farce with another man? It was hard enough with Alfonso, but at least that was in Rome. I fear so much I will never see you again. Every time you leave for campaign I am anxious and desperate the whole time you are away."

"Oh, my love," he took her into his arms, "my sweet love."

"I could not bear losing you."

"You won't lose me, Crezia, even going to Ferrara. I'll visit you for the Romagna and Ferrara are neighbors and it would be only a ride away. If Giovanni had been mine you'd always have a part of me…"

"I know."

"Let us both forget our fears," he held her at arm's length, "for tonight."

"Yes, dearest."

* * *

><p>Vitelli fell before him, grabbing the hem of his cloak. "I promise you, Duke, my only motive is to get deliverance for the unjust imprisonment suffered by Cerbone, who had been my brother's chancellor. I will make no demands of Florence, I will not get involved with the Medici, and above all else I will not harm the town and country."<p>

Cesare took his arm and brought him to his feet, embracing Vitelli in front of several condottiero and witnesses. He leaned close to his ear and whispered, "Very convincing for you, Vitelli."

"I am humbled by your praise, Duke." His assurances from Vitelli, which would please the Florentine, would allow him to enter her territory more at ease.

He entered Florentine territory with Vitelli, Orsini, and his army much to the chagrin of the city. He marched to Barberino and there in May gave audience to the ambassador.

"You wish only to take Poimbino?"

"Yes and I would greatly appreciate Florence's neutrality in the matter."

"That is assured, Duke."

"Florence has given me little reason to take their word at face value. I place no trust in your government; they have already broken faith with me once more. I do however require some assurances before I sign any treaty with your city."

"What are you after?"

"Satisfaction for Vitelli and Orsini."

"You do not mention the Medici."

"I care nothing for the interest of that once illustrious family. All great Houses fall when set into the hands of incompetent rulers like Piero de Medici. My own House nearly suffered that same fate due to the Duke of Gandia. Thankfully he passed on and I rose to take his place." He noticed the ambassador's shifty eyes as he spoke of Juan and smiled boldly.

"Tell me what your city plans to do with my army at the Forno dei Campi?"

"The Republic makes no hasty decisions, Duke of Valentinois," the Florentine ambassador hedged as he sat across from him. "We are here to negotiate terms. Action before any compromise has been made would be foolhardy. Would you not agree?"

The words had a double meaning which was not lost on him. He was implying not only would action be improper for Florence but for him as well.

He smiled at the ambassador and glared quite flagrantly at Vitelli when he opened his mouth. The man squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze and said nothing that would be detrimental.

"I am aware that His Holiness has sent a letter demanding you withdraw from Florentine territory."

It was futile to refute the claim because it was true.

"How would a man such as you know of a letter from the Pope? I am not aware others are seeing my personal correspondence these days. I'll have to hang a few treacherous servants." His statement made no contradictory claim, but neither had he affirmed it. He knew exactly what kind of game he was playing and Cesare was eager to be the winner in this battle of wits.

"If your allies King Louis and His Holiness are so against this aggression towards our state should you not heed them? They are after all your only means of troops and ducats."

"King Louis would never think currently to take Florence's side over mine. I am the one with the army, cities, and support of the people of the Romagna. Florence barely has artillery to defend its walls. As for His Holiness need we even venture into the many reasons he wouldn't betray me?"

The ambassador knew as he did which side had the better cards in this battle. Cesare had everything going for him; Florence was a speck awaiting the bull's charge.

"We should speak of the terms of the treaty," he conceded after a moment. "Three hundred lances for three years, to be used in Florentine service, with a stipend of thirty six thousand ducats."

"The terms are agreeable enough."

"Duke, these Florentine bastards―." His scathing glance silenced Vitelli who was clearly on the verge of attacking the ambassador.

"You should excuse yourself from this treaty talk. You are far from sensible when it comes to Florence."

"For good reason!"

"I do not care for sentimental notions," he stood and Vitelli cowed like a child at the aggressive stance he took. "Leave and do not return unless you are given order by me. Paolo," the Orsini, impassive though he appeared, was as restive as Vitelli. "Take Vitelli out and stay with him until I give further orders."

He didn't sit until both men had reluctantly left. Oliverotto of Fermo, leaning close to Francesco Orsini, called from his place for all to hear, "Does the Duke wish all his condottieri to leave?"

"Why not?" He waved a hand indicating he wanted just that and slowly his men rose and walked out. He laughed when the door finally shut, "They are ignorant men with no idea what they do."

"Do you?"

"You look skeptically at me, ambassador, you think me a fool for angering them. You think I make enemies of my own men?" He was giving the ambassador a picture of a captain who couldn't control his men to take back to Florence.

"It would seem thus."

"I do no such thing. You misunderstand. I cannot trust men who have alliances to other than me. Vitelli and Paolo Orsini long for Florence's destruction. They would betray me in a heartbeat if someone offered them it."

"Is that not the game of politics to deceive and be deceived?"

"Certainly, but I plan to always be the deceiver."

"Don't we all."

"I see nothing immediately wrong in the treaty." He stressed the word immediately, holding the ambassador's eyes. He knew how Florence worked.

"I am glad you are so agreeable to the terms. May we conclude this meeting then?"

"I bid you the best of luck and Florence."

* * *

><p>"I am here to discuss the artillery," Niccolò Machiavelli glanced around at the faces of the Signory. The artillery had been thrown into the Arno River so Florence wouldn't be forced to give them to the Borgia. "This action will be viewed…for lack of a better word…as impolitic. The Duke of Valentinois has arms, which we do not, and therefore we are in no case to hinder his passage. Moreover a wiser course of action would have been to save face by allowing the Duke passage."<p>

"We don't care for this Borgia upstart!" One of the Signory spat, "All we care for is his removal from our territory."

"I am aware of that. He is a menace, I do not say otherwise, but now we have given him, if he so desired, an easy conquest."

"He wouldn't dare!"

"You will find an adventurer, which the Duke has shown himself to be, will not hesitant at any action."

"The treaty signed with the terms we wanted will restrain him," the ambassador who had signed the treaty declared. "We are under no obligation to fulfill the contract. Valentino will have no ducats and artillery from Florence."

Machiavelli shook his head at the Signory's political ineptness and knew they'd doomed Florence by the treaty.

* * *

><p>"They have denied me the first installment of the agreed upon ducats," he said to Michelotto. "And refused to offer me the cannon, saying the terms were not crystal clear as to when they need to deliver their side of the deal."<p>

"You expected that I thought."

"The ambassador thought he was being clever. He doesn't realize I don't care. Order Vitelli to depart to Pisa and seek our artillery needs there. They are friendly to us, unlike Florence." He smiled, "The Florentine don't even realize they've given me great reason to attack them at a later date. Once I've enough resources and no longer need the French they will find themselves regretting their actions of this day."

* * *

><p>I have to admit Machiavelli is awesome to write :) I can't wait to write his meeting with Cesare later.<p> 


	15. Chapter 15

Cesare laughed, slapping Paolo on the back and smiling at Vitelli.

"Duke of Valentinois, I present the great painter and architect, among his many talents, Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci."

He blinked and the room fell into hushed silence.

"Is he the man who painted The Virgin and Child with St. Anne and St. John the Baptist?"

"I believe so," Francesco Orsini mumbled to Gian Baglioni's inquiry.

He was in his fifties with a great gray and white beard and dark brushy brows. His eyes were stunning. Cesare was reminded of his father when he'd been young; of Rodrigo's strong hand on his shoulder, of his stern face and bright joyful eyes. He stood from his seat, "We are in the presence of greatest! I demand silence!"

"Duke of Valentinois," those sharp unimaginably impressive eyes bore on him with cool sagacity. "I have brought you a gift. I hope this will encourage you to offer me some employment. I find little in Florence."

The vellum Leonardo set on the table before him was nothing special. Uncoiled though what it revealed was amazing. Imola was displayed in sharp lines across the surface, every inch breathtakingly detailed, every building given its due. Cesare leaned away from it in awe, hearing the proclamations of stunned mutters from his captains.

"You are now my chief military engineer and architect, Leonardo da Vinci. You will want for nothing in my employ. I've never seen such a thing before. What precision and detail you've captured my stronghold of Imola! Are you perchance a man greater than I?"

"I presume nothing," Leonardo stated, looking a little put off at this sudden grandiose talk. "I am merely a crafter of life."

"Crafter of life indeed," he chuckled. "You amaze me. Your skills will be very useful."

* * *

><p>"Send Leonardo da Vinci in would you? I believe I have work for him."<p>

"Duke of Valentinois," Leonardo's bearing was good for a humble painter.

"No formality, Leonardo. Either you must call me Valentino or Cesare. I do not like great men to lower themselves. It irks me."

"You are most gracious, Duke… Valentino."

"I do admire your work. I've heard good things about your paintings in Milan under Ludovico."

"Thank you."

"Think nothing of it. I am however employing you for a very different skillset you have."

"Engineer and architect," Leonardo's pride was evident in the lift of his head. Cesare figured the man preferred physical construction to the temporal of the paint brush.

"Exactly. I have several repairs I'd like you to undertake. Nothing noteworthy or up to your caliber, but I require their repairs and must have a trusted architect on the business."

"I value your trust highly."

"You value my ducats, Leonardo, not my person. Florence had little in way to offer a man of your standards after Milan. I hope I do not put you to tasks that you find beneath you."

"Work is work. One spends leisure time in pursue of creative inspiration."

"I am glad to hear it. I do have a commission of a canal I'd like you to undertake."

"A canal," he could tell the man was beaming with ideas at that.

"After your wonderful Imola map I think this will be easy work."

"Where would you have the canal?"

"Cesena to Porto Cesenatico."

"That will be interesting I think."

"After that you will join me in Rome if you are not adverse to the idea."

"I am not."

"Good. Now I've other business and leave you to your leisure."

* * *

><p>He quitted Rome to ride to his ally's side with the bulk of his army. Gonsalo de Coroba had landed his Spanish army in Calabria. King Federigo remained in Naples, but sent Prospero Colonna to Capua which was held by Fabrizio Colonna and Count Rinuccio Marciano.<p>

The order was given to ravage the countryside and take all the strongholds they came to. They were halted three weeks later two miles from their destination. Six hundred lances were waiting with Colonna to stop their passage to Capua.

He rallied his men and rode out among them, encouraging them with, "You'll see your wives soon men, only tiny Colonna and Capua stand in our way!" or "You think this puny Federico can stand against us!" He laughed afterwards, appearing calm and without concern which would enliven the men. Then they charged the enemy. His calm stayed even as he decapitated arms and heads. He knew his enemies understood bloodlust and rage during battle, but they could never understand calm self-assurance, that frightened them even more than a madman with a sword.

The Neapolitans routed and crawled like dogs back to safety under the walls of Capua. He ordered his men back to their lines and order was restored amongst his men in record time. The wounded were quickly either put out of their misery or taken to a makeshift infirmary.

"Nicked my arm, Michelotto," he said with a chuckle. "Think it will scar?"

"I'd call that much more than a nick, Duke," he stirred him towards the infirmary.

"I rather not waste the doctor's time, Michelotto. Get me a needle and some string and I'll sew myself back up."

"No way in hell."

"That's very valorous of you, Duke," Jean d'Auton said as he opened the flap of the tent, "but unnecessary. We didn't suffer so many causalities that the very leader of the army should be left to fend for himself. Come here and sit. I'll fetch a doctor."

"When will we begin bombardment on Capua?" He asked as they sat, knowing Jean d'Auton was favored writer of history for King Louis.

"I do not know, though it shouldn't be long."

"Good news then. We should take Capua without too much fuss. I doubt we'll be here all of July."

"Let us hope," Jean said with a smile.

* * *

><p>Bombardment began on the seventeenth and lasted a whole week. The bastions caved under the attack and the French acquired possession of it, killing two hundred Neapolitan left defending it. A breach in the town was gained on the twenty-fifth.<p>

The resistance was fierce, the fight the bloodiest he had yet seen. There was blood and limps everywhere. Blood stained his face and soaked his undergarments red. In fear and realizing the defense had been lost Neapolitans threw down their weapons only to be stabbed the next instance as he watched the massacre. He winced when he saw a solider fell a small boy, barely six and another gutted a pregnant mother begging on her knees for mercy. This wasn't war anymore; it was useless slaughter. He cursed and set his horse upon some men trying to enter a walled up church. He slew them mercilessly, seeing the defenseless faces of women and children cowering inside. He stopped before the door, seeing another church a few feet ahead being attacked. Men were already inside and he could hear shrieking and weeping. A woman came running out only to be grabbed by a solider and forced to her knees. He raped the woman from behind, unheeding of the violence all around him as he took the babbling and sobbing girl, probably no older than fourteen. He stared at the horror before him with revulsion. What kind of God could make men so beastly? He tightened his hold on his reigns and turned his horse from the city. There was no use trying to save any of them for they were all doomed.

"Michelotto," his favorite assassin knelt at his feet. "Michelotto? Are we men or monsters?"

"Men, Duke."

"Even after Capua?"

"Even so."

"Why don't we just kill our wretched self's? How can the men live with what they've done?"

"They are soldiers, it is what they know and do."

"That does not make raping a fourteen year old before a church right!"

"Horror and war go hand in hand, Duke."

"Have you not even the faintest of morals, Michelotto?"

"I qualm over few things. I have seen too much in this life to think the atrocities of men are inhuman. I try my best to not linger on obscene things."

"I wish I had your conscience then. All I could see in that girl was Lucrezia and now I feel as if I have failed her all over again."

"Noble men without conscience are not great and certainly are not loved by any."

"People will truly call me tyrant now. If I can I will never sack another town. I will even accept traitors help to avoid it. I never again wish to see a massacre."

"I bring news."

"What?"

"Prospero and Fabrizio Colonna were captured."

"Federigo is lacking captains now. That is the only good news I've heard today. Ransom them and we'll get a good sum to help pay those beasts which are our troops."

"I'll get on it."

* * *

><p>Cesare walked over to Leonardo, glancing at the sketch he was crafting with his steady practiced hand. "That is quite a likeness," he said with a smile.<p>

"Thank you," Leonardo's hand didn't pause even slightly.

"Is it almost done, Cesare?" Lucrezia asked from where she sat.

"Keep your eyes down, Crezia, and it will be done all the sooner."

"I hate being so still."

"Endure it so I may have your face immortalized, darling," he said with a warm smile. "Leonardo knows his trade well. I may have hired him to be my engineer but one sketch for me won't hurt any. You do not mind?"

"I get ducats for my work and I do not complain. The lady is beautiful enough to be drawn."

"You see, even Leonardo compliments you."

"I suppose that is something."

"Please her vanity and she will sit stiller," he whispered to Leonardo, biting back a laugh at her expense.

* * *

><p>Cesare, leaning back in his seat, glaring at the man Alexander had chosen to read the libel. Lucrezia was sitting pale faced next to Sancia and Jofre.<p>

"It is said… Your Holiness may I stop?"

"No, continue."

"But Your Holiness―."

"I am the Vicar of Christ and you will obey for my authority supersedes all others." Alexander's pointed look in his fuming direction did not elude anyone's notice.

"It is said the Pope is a betrayer of the human race, who has spent his life in betrayals and will ever do any just thing other than through fear or force."

"Continue," the Pope was smiling.

"Savelli…" Cesare closed his eyes, trying to block out the terrible insults. "…make known to the Emperor and all princes of the Empire the atrocious crimes of the infamous wild beasts which have been perpetrated in contempt of God and religion."

"Continue," Alexander demanded when he paused and looked ready to faint.

"The Pope is perfidious with all manner of men, practices simony daily, and is a ravisher of women."

"That was hardly colorful slurs. I do all those things, though I do not think I practice simony every day!" Alexander laughed, Cesare stewed, and Sancia and Jofre watched the two anxiously.

"Do they say anything about me, Your Holiness?"

"No, Sancia, they do not. That is only because everything has been said." Sancia, Jofre, and Alexander all laughed at the remark.

"I wonder," Cesare leaned forward in his chair, "what the audacious author says of me?"

"Some good riotous antics," Alexander answered, "skip the next bit and get on about Cesare. You can return to the other part after."

"Duke of Valentinois…"

"Come on."

"I would rather not."

"Oh for God's sake Burchard can you finish reading?"

Burchard cleared his throat as he found the passage the Cardinal pointed out to him. "Duke of Valentinois is perhaps the most obscene of this odious family. He enjoys murder as a woman enjoys clothing…" Burchard paused, noted Cesare's lack of expression, and pressed on. "Many murders can be attributed to this Valentino; Pedro Calderon was drowned by him and the death of the Prince of Naples. The worst crime of this Borgia is his terrorizing of the Romagna, where he has driven out the legitimate lords and instilled fear into every citizen. A tyrant who claims to have ousted the real villains when posterity will remember who was the righteous in this city taking."

"Is that it? No mention of the Duke of Gandia? Not even a hint? Well, they've surprised me there."

"Relate the bit about Lucrezia." Cesare, humorously inclined a moment ago at the lack of Juan's mention, immediately became stoic.

"Enough of this rubbish," he began, but Alexander's look said he would hear it all. "Not in front of the women."

"You treat your sister as a child. It is nothing more than we have not all heard whispered throughout Rome for years."

"I don't care, please continue Burchard," Lucrezia said, head thrown back on her shoulders.

"Lucrezia Borgia, who many claim to be wife, daughter, and sister of a priest, is notorious for murder by poison." Cesare scowled as Lucrezia ducked her head. "She is furthermore considered the greatest whore in Rome for her indiscretions with her male family members, particularly the Pope, Valentino, and the Duke of Gandia. The supper with fifty courtesans and the scene of the four stallions are two lesser known evils accorded this foul and wanton mistress from Hell."

"What stallion incident are they talking about?" Cesare asked, glancing at Lucrezia.

"Some stallions broke free from their trainers a while back," Alexander informed, "and they made quite a mess. Unfortunately the gossipers have taken to saying Lucrezia and I were presence and that we relished in the bloodshed." He glanced at Burchard who simply stared at his feet.

"What supper are they referring too?" Lucrezia demanded, "and why are they adding it to my list of crimes? I don't ever see courtesans expect when Cesare or Your Holiness is in their company."

"Burchard?"

"Yes?"

"Would you mind explaining the details of the Ballet of the Chestnuts to everyone?"

"Explain it?"

"You wrote about it in your diary…oh you thought I didn't know about that. I'm not offended in the tinniest by what you write, it amuses me."

The obvious discomfort on the Master of Ceremonies' face was priceless for Rodrigo. Johann Burchard rarely got ruffled over anything that didn't have to do with the ceremonies.

"The Ballet of Chestnuts, as it is being retold by enemies, was a feast held in the Duke of Valentinois' apartments in the apostolic palace. There were said to be fifty courtesans in attendance," Cesare rolled his eyes.

"As if I would be so undignified as to have fifty courtesans at a feast! Have I ever done such a thing to warrant this impropriety?"

"Let Burchard finish."

"After the food was eaten…" Burchard looked ill at ease and shifted his weight. Cesare was quick to worry over something that made verbose Burchard uneasy. "After the supper the courtesans danced with the servants and others."

"Burchard, you skipped over a detail."

"They danced at first dressed and then naked." Cesare scoffed, looking vexed with real anger, which was unaccustomed of him they knew. "Lampstands with lighted candles were placed around the room and chestnuts were thrown liberally onto the floor. The ladies got on their knees and crawled about the lampstands picking up the chestnuts. His Holiness, the Duke, and Lady Lucrezia were all present so say the rumors."

"That is not all Burchard."

"God there is more?"

"Yes, Cesare, much more."

"The servants were awarded prices such as doublets and other garments for those that…were most successful with the courtesans."

"There are rumors saying I had servants measuring how many times the men ejaculated."

"You do admire virility," Jofre lamely put in.

"True, but I've never been known to be that tedious," Alexander laughed.

"Who spread this Chestnut nonsense about and when are they attributing this to me? I've hardly been in Rome."

"They say October 1501."

"Your Holiness has a good memory," Burchard added awkwardly.

"I do. I suppose that means I've many years left."

"I cannot believe they say I was there," Lucrezia snapped, rising in a huff. "If you'll excuse me, this talk has grown weary."

"I'll come with you. As for whoever wrote this drivel he should beware. I will find him and hang him."

"Ignore it, Cesare, paying heed to these rumors only emboldens them."

"You said that about Giovanni's claims and they haven't gone away!"

"Maybe that is because there is truth to them?" Sancia glared at him as he paused at the door.

"Hold your tongue, sister-in-law, or you will find yourself without it."

"Threatening people now too? Should we add that your list of wickedness?"

"I am being vexed with an unflattering reputation due to my crimes, but your barrenness is punishment for your whoring." He spat saliva in her direction and stormed out.

Sancia, ever prickly about her barrenness, rose and left without further word.

* * *

><p>"What do you think Costabili?"<p>

"I think rumors are most lies told by enemies and then spread by common people."

"I agree."

"Occasional truth is glimpsed in them, but for the most part there is no basis for most of the nonsense Rome is spewing lately."

"I've told the Duke of Valentinois, on more than one occasion, that Rome is a free city, where everyone is at liberty to say or write whatever he pleases. I remind him too that he is not the only one being slandered. I myself have much evil spoken about me, yet I heed it not for what use is there is brooding over it?"

"Precisely."

"The duke is good-natured mostly, but he hasn't learned to bear insult well."

"I see."

"I said this to him myself and he, in irritation, said, "However much Rome may be in the habit of speaking and writing, for my own part I shall give these libelers a lesson in good manners."

"That sounds ill for the writer of that letter."

"I'd advise most to keep quiet in the presence of Valentinois until he has a chance to think rationally. His judgment is marred from the letter. Cesare has always been most adamant about protecting this family and he feels he has failed in this regard when it comes to the family's ill reputation."

"I sympathize with him."

"That is gracious of you. Now about that execution…"

* * *

><p>"Lucrezia," she turned and smiled upon him. They entered her apartment together, his hand slipping into hers as the door shut behind them. "Have you dismissed your ladies and servants?"<p>

"Yes."

"Good." She reached for his doublet, but he stilled her eager hands. "I have something for you."

"For me? Cesare, you didn't have to." He pulled out a cloth covered package and put it in her palm.

"I brought this at Imola." The ring she uncovered was a deep brown agate stripped through with black and gold. "You said you liked brown."

"Yes. It reminds me of you. Your eyes are almost this color," she pointed to a particular strip, smiling sweetly as she did.

"It is hollow inside," he took it from her hands and showed her how to open it. "I had one heck of a time figuring out how to open the blasted thing. Leonardo had to show me."

"It seems simple enough."

"I've no mind for jewelry."

"What should I put inside it?"

"No doubt enemies will say poison. They already label you a murderess." He paused, seeing her troubled face. Trying to relieve the tension he'd accidentally caused he took her hand and led her over to the needlework she'd left unfinished that evening. "Where do you keep your scissors?"

"What for?"

"Just find them for me."

"Right there." He picked them up, went to the vanity, pulled a strand of his auburn hair taunt, and snipped it off.

Lucrezia gave a cry, "What are you doing? Don't cut your hair!"

"I'm giving you something to remember me by, you twit."

"Oh." He coiled the hair around his finger and taking a piece of yarn off her table wrapped it around the hair to keep it flat. He opened the hollowed ring and placed the hair neatly inside. "That was a wonderful idea."

"Now," he pulled her into his arms after she slipped the ring on and was admiring it. "Who should you thank for this gift?"

"The Lord of Imola, Forli, Rimini, Faenza, and Piombino." He laughed in delight at the way she drawled every name. Her fingers dug into his doublet.

"Who else?"

"The Duke of Romagna?"

"Who else?"

"Valentino?"

"Who is your brother?"

"Juan, Jofre?"

"The other one."

"Cesare," the way she said his name was like an angel from above singing sweetly into his ears.

"You little nymph," he kissed her squarely across the mouth, devouring every inch of her coy lips. How was he going to live without her when she went to Ferrara?

* * *

><p>Leonardo did paint Isabella d'Este, but did he paint Lucrezia? I don't believe so. I just wanted Leonardo to draw a picture of her.<p> 


	16. Chapter 16

Warning for cursing. I try to make it realistic and as such in extreme moments and sometimes for laughs the characters will use foul language.

* * *

><p>Gianluca Pozzi, the ambassador of Ferrara at the Vatican, paused in his letter. Duke Ercole, the Pope had informed him earlier that evening, was driving a hard bargain for Lucrezia's dowry and Alexander was hoping his impression of Lucrezia which he would relate to his duke would ease the man's fears about her reputation and perchance lower the dowry.<p>

He reflected over his letter, rereading every detail to make sure it would please Ercole and His Holiness.

"This evening, after supper, I accompanied Messer Gerardo Saraceni to visit the Most Illustrious Madonna Lucrezia in your Excellency's name and that of the Most Illustrious Don Alfonso. We entered into a long discussion touching various matters. In truth she showed herself a prudent, discreet, and good-natured lady."

Lucrezia had made a good impression upon him that evening and his letter didn't hesitant to relate it. He only feared Alfonso's crudeness would offend the delicate lady when she finally met him.

* * *

><p>Cesare, surrounded by thousands of men-at-arms and mounted on a war-horse bedazzled in cloth and jewels, knew this show of wealth would get back to Ercole d'Este. Ercole would be wishing he'd gotten an even better deal for her dowry. Cardinal Ippolito d'Este along with his brothers Sigismondo and Ferrante had come in an imposing suite.<p>

"Duke of Valentinois," Cardinal Ippolito greeted, "I've heard much about your Excellency."

"I am sure you've heard much, whether ill or not I do not wish to wager at."

"Only good things," Ippolito confirmed with a politic smile.

"I should be so lucky," he laughed and the cavalcade moved ino Rome.

"I take it Rome loves these processions," Ferrante assumed.

"Roman citizens love anything with even a spark of the sensational."

"Is Lucrezia as beautiful as they say, Duke?" Sigismondo inquired, young face wondering as his gaze studied several ladies in the crowd.

"I am too biased to be honest."

"Well, has this man ever met the lady?" Sigismondo pointed to Michelotto.

"Yes, Michelotto, do tell us your opinion about my sister?" He could invisibly see the stiffness invade Sigismondo's shoulders and Ferrante drabbed at his forehead with his kerchief and avoided eye contact. Only Ippolito looked indifferent, showing no physical unease.

"Lucrezia is ah…I am no poet, but her beauty is equal to none and her breath of mind and her charming manners are reminiscent of the Goddess Aphrodite. More ladies of Rome should aspire to her level of otherworldliness, generosity, and magnanimous spirit."

Cesare reigned in his horse, which caused several men-at-arms to hurriedly avoid crashing into each other.

"Michelotto!"

"What did I say wrong, Duke?"

"You speak like a man besotted! If I didn't know you better," he gaffed at Michelotto. "I have resolved never to leave you alone with her again." He kicked his horse and they started moving again. "I shouldn't stop again, puts the men into undue annoyance. Cardinal Ippolito, what sort of man is this brother of yours?"

"He is crude."

"What do you mean?" He met Ippolito's sideways glance.

"I think you mistake my meaning. He is no brute with the ladies."

"That is good because if he was he'd go the way of Giovanni Sforza…or his immediate predecessor. Giovanni Sforza was braver in Pesaro than Rome, Cardinal, and I refuse to be dubbed a second time."

"I was not aware the Lord of Pesaro…former that is…was of such an unfeeling character. I heard he could be temperamental, but did not know it extended that far."

"You will find our family keeps few secrets, Cardinal, and your brother is marrying into our House."

"We d'Este are less fortunate. Secrets abound amongst our old noble House."

"I am sure they do," he met Ippolito's eye unwaveringly, finding of all the men the Duke of Ferrara had sent Ippolito was the only one with an intelligent air. The slights he made continually in his speech would have gone over other heads like Juan's, but he was well aware of the tentative sketch Ippolito was making of his character to send to his father. He was trying and quite cleverly to gauge the strength of his House through his own person.

"Do you enjoy an ecclesiastical career, your Eminence?" He knew, athletic and handsome Ippolito, was much like a younger version of him, but without the greatness of his vision. He was restive, intelligent, and yearning to do anything but kneel in prayer to a God that he probably didn't believe in.

"I enjoy it as much as you must have," Ippolito answered shrewdly.

"Brother Ippolito is more suited to seducing the ladies of Ferrara than anything."

"I don't doubt his eagerness to visit Rome was not purely to get his brother's wife."

"I'm a worldly man, Duke."

"I cannot fault a man for following his natural inclination. You will find half…scratch that…most of the Cardinals in Rome are far removed from purity. Chastity you'll only find in convents sometimes," he winked when he said the last word, knowing all the men present would understand his lewd jest.

"I want to visit a convent," Ferrante said with a laugh, "All the ones in Ferrara have old women or ugly girls."

"Nunneries aren't meant to produce great beauties, Ferrante," he stated, "that is why most of the women are sent there."

"They so repulsed their father's they sent them away!"

"Oh, Sigismondo, that's not true. They were just too ugly for their husbands!"

He met Ippolito's speculatively glance with a friendly smile. He was good at winning idiots over. Ippolito would take more work. "I've a cousin," he said, "Angela who spent a great deal of time in a nunnery."

"Is she hideous?"

"Quite the contrary; you'll find even some nuns can be beautiful. You'll meet her when you see Lucrezia. She's to accompany her to Ferrara."

"No Sancia then?"

"Sancia," he laughed, "no…"

"Is Sancia reserved for you, Duke?"

"Sancia is reserved for no one, Ferrante, she beds whoever she pleases. I would caution against her though, she can be a heartless wench and tear even good men to pieces."

"You must be having a lovers quarrel to speak so ill of her."

"I'll remind you Sancia is Jofre's wife and I do wonder where you heard this rumor about the lady and me? I'm always keen to pick up on where the gossip starts."

"And smother it?"

"More like cut a tongue or hand off, but especially for rumors that disgust me. Sancia is too precarious even for me unfortunately, but you are all welcome to her. I stay away from her for fear I'll catch another disease. The French disease is enough already."

The walk up the Vatican steps was done in silence as Ferrante and Sigismondo gaped in awe and Ippolito trailed behind talking to one of his servants about arranging their belongings.

"Your Holiness," he greeted formally when he entered the Pope's chamber. "I have Cardinal Ippolito d'Este and his brothers Sigismondo and Ferrante with me."

"Cardinal Ippolito!" Alexander sized him up without so much as blinking. "Good to see you." He didn't even bother to acknowledge the other two. "How is the Duke?"

"The Duke of Ferrara is well and sends his regards."

"I'm sure the bastard does," Alexander laughed at their stunned looks. "Drove a hard price that Ercole. He is as stingy as they said. I am just glad the haggling is over, every time I wrote to him I felt like a tradesmen bartering off his ware."

"Where is Lucrezia?"

"In Santa Maria. We weren't expecting their arrival so soon."

"I'll send for her."

"Better you send word that you are coming and give her time to get ready. Drink some wine and let the men relax. Ferrara to here isn't an easy ride. You know how infernally long it takes her to dress anyway! She can never decide which dress or how to style her hair. She is insufferable."

"Yes, Your Holiness."

"Tell her to come see me later, Cesare, I…"

"Yes, Your Holiness," he waved them all out quickly, even pushing Ferrante out the door.

"Why such hast?"

"He is being overly sentimental at the moment. He speaks ill of Lucrezia, but that is his way of coping with her leaving. He has done that for years whenever one of us left to go anywhere. I went to Naples to crown the King one year and he treated me scornfully up until my departing, then he was all tenderness as I was readying to go. You should have seen the letters he wrote me, pleading with me to return quickly and saying he missed me. He is very much a besotted girl when his children are gone."

"I wouldn't be able to stand it," Ippolito said with a perturbed expression.

"Better he show some affection, even as dramatically as he does, then none."

"The Duke is far from sentimental. He prefers us gone and we like being away."

"Lack of familial bonds is disheartening to hear. It is a real shame to not know family loyalty." He met Ippolito's cool gaze with a stare that was not friendly. He often stared into the eyes of the bulls he slew with this look and he was not disappointed when the Cardinal looked away. He was sick of dancing around Ippolito's constant defensive rebuttals and clear cut condescension.

Lucrezia was standing at the entrance of Santa Maria when they arrived. She bowed to them in the French custom rather than kissing the d'Este brothers. Her dress was white embroidered in gold over which a dark brown velvet garment trimmed with sable lay. The sleeves were white and gold brocade and in the Spanish fashion. Her headdress was green gauze with a fine gold band and two rows of pearls. She wore her favored pearls at her neck with a ruby pendent settled above her breasts.

Cesare had never found her more beautiful and he was overwhelmingly pleased at Ippolito, Sigismondo, and Ferrante's stunned expressions.

"Do you fine her pleasing, Cardinal?"

"Exceedingly."

"Will Alfonso?"

"I should hope so. It would be a waste of a beautiful woman. My brother has particular tastes in ladies, Duke, he likes them plump."

"I am sure Lucrezia can entice him."

"I do not doubt it."

* * *

><p>"Lucrezia!" He called as he walked into her chamber. Angela was sitting in front of the fire weaving.<p>

"Duke Valentinois," he greeted her with a kiss upon her cheeks.

"I've men to introduce you too. This is Cardinal Ippolito, Sigismondo, and Ferrante d'Este. They have come to see Lucrezia."

"Good to meet you all."

"Pleasure to meet you," Ippolito said, face slightly taken aback.

"This is my cousin Angela Borgia." Ippolito's slow grin was not welcomed to him. Angela for her part looked amused at him. "Is she dressed?"

"She is finishing changing."

"Good." He saw Sigismondo and Ferrante exchange eager looks and gave them a scolding scowl. Both d'Este quelled underneath his vexation. Cardinal Ippolito was smiling at Angela and she was aware of his gaze as she went back to her weaving.

"You said your cousin was a Borgia?"

"Yes."

"Does she fancy any man?"

"Not that I am aware of."

"I see."

"Ippolito."

"Yes?" The man, aware of his lack of formality, turned from watching Angela to look him in the face.

"Leave her alone."

"I have no dishonorable intention. I was merely inquiring to pass the time."

"Leave her alone, d'Este."

"Why? Are you and she?" He pulled his dagger out as Ippolito drew away from him. Michelotto had his stiletto out instantaneously when he saw him draw his.

"How dare you!"

"I only know you Borgia have a reputation."

"What is going on here?" Lucrezia had changed out of her earlier gown into a more earthen tone. She approached with one hand on her hip. "Duke, put your weapon away. They are guests."

"Duchess," his voice still stiff and face grim he moved away from Ippolito and sheathed his dagger. Michelotto followed suit.

"I will not ask why quarreling has taken place in my palace, much less my own chamber, but I demand you cease all antagonizing. Don't look at me that way, Cesare, you always start the fights."

"I get vexed by impropriety."

"I am sure you do. Relax." She smiled and touched his cheek, ruffling the neat beard. "I know why your temper gets out of hand, brother, but you would do better to control it. I can't have you offending my escort to Ferrara over a petty disagreement."

"You make a valid point. I would offend many in my hast. Excuse me, Cardinal Ippolito, but my sister's leaving disquiets me and makes my temper quick. I wish to invite you to my feast later if you can stand my company after this."

"D'Este do not harbor ill feeling at words spoken in anger. Will the Duchess and the Lady Angela be joining us?"

"Of course."

"Then be assured I will attend."

As they were leaving Lucrezia's quarters he turned to Ippolito. "My cousin is only twelve."

"She appears much older."

"I am sure she does. You are staying here when they leave for Ferrara," he was making no demands as this action had been arranged previously.

* * *

><p>Illustrious Master,<p>

Today after supper Don Gerardo Saraceni and I betook ourselves to the illustrious Madonna Lucrezia, to pay our respects in the name of your Excellency and his Majesty Don Alfonso. We had a long conversation regarding various matters. She is a most intelligent and lovely, and also exceedingly gracious lady. Your Excellency and the illustrious Don Alfonso—so we were led to conclude—will be highly pleased with her. Besides being extremely graceful in every way, she is modest, lovable, and decorous. Moreover, she is a devout and God-fearing Christian. Tomorrow she is going to confession, and during Christmas week she will receive the communion. She is very beautiful, but her charm of manner is still more striking. In short, her character is such that it is impossible to suspect anything "sinister" of her; but, on the contrary, we look for only the best. It seems to be our duty to tell you the exact truth in this letter. I commend myself to your Highness's merciful benevolence. Rome, December 23, 1501, the sixth hour of the night.

Your Excellency's servant,

Johannes Lucas.

Ercole d'Este threw the letter to the floor. "What do you think Alfonso?"

"Lying obviously to save his own skin," he was cutting up an orange with his hunting knife. He wondered how he's managed to produce an heir so unrefined. Why couldn't Ippolito have been the eldest?

"Sigismondo wrote too and said she is a jewel among woman and Pozzi said much the same."

"Then either they conspire together or Lucrezia is a fine actress."

"She has so many charges against her I do not know where to begin, Alfonso. I never would have accepted this match if the damn King of France had just been reasonable and given you a princess."

"Cesare sucks the old man's cock, Father, can't help it that he does whatever Valentino wants of him."

"Half of the Romagna in on their knees in fear."

"The men perhaps, but I rather think the ladies enjoy it."

"Stop being so profane, Alfonso, that is quite enough out of you!"

"Maybe Lucrezia is the pearl she is made out to be?" He cut off a slice of orange and with his hands still grimy from his work with the cannons popped a piece into his mouth.

Ercole winced, pressing a hand to his face. Maybe this Borgia could at least teach Alfonso to act properly in public and keep his depravity hidden for they did seem good at that at least. Or not, he thought, reminded of their black reputation.

* * *

><p>"Rodrigo is now Duke of Sermoneta," Lucrezia said with glee as she picked him up into her arms.<p>

"What does Giovanni get from the Bull?"

"The Dukedom of Nepi and Palestrina."

"As Lord of the Romagna my eldest would inherit Nepi."

"Are you upset about this?"

"No. I said I would make Giovanni my heir and I intend to do so. The Savelli and Colonna are pitching fits already at the confiscation of their possessions I take it."

"I suppose." He picked Giovanni up, whose innocent eyes amused him.

"You are getting so big," he said, ruffling the young boy's hair. "Do you like being a Duke, Giovanni?"

"I don't feel any older," he whined, burying his head into his chest.

"Is your maid still hassling you?"

"Always! She never lets me have sweetmeats."

"I ordered her not to give into your sweet tooth, young man, so dislike her all you want and me too, but you will not become a pig."

"Grandpa Rodrigo is!" Cesare laughed, setting Giovanni onto his own two feet and crouching down to the boy's eye level.

"First off you call him His Holiness or His Beatitude. Rodrigo is inappropriate in public and grandfather only in private."

"Yes, Father."

"What did I tell you?"

"Sorry, Duke."

"What do you call your mother?"

"Her Excellency."

"When speaking to her?"

"Your Excellency."

"Good. What are cardinals again since you show too much formality with Giovanni Borgia?"

"Your or His Eminence."

"Good. What is a king?"

"Your Majesty."

"Right."

"Enough lessons, he knows all of the titles."

"But he forgets to use them."

"He is young and he only forgets around family. You were like that when you were young."

"We were not children of the Pope then."

"Leave him alone. Let his tutors worry about his instruction."

He leaned over to Giovanni and whispered fugitively in his ear as Lucrezia turned away, humming softly and rocking Rodrigo in her arms.

"Mare?"

"Sí?" Giovanni knew Catalan as that was the family language routinely spoken in the Vatican, but his Italian was good and his Latin was standard for his young age.

"La mare és una gossa." Lucrezia's face turned red. She smacked him across the check. "Te sunt meretrix," Giovanni's Latin faltered at the end.

"Lucrèce est un con," Cesare's French was fluent, which wasn't much of a surprise since he'd spent a year in France and was constantly surrounded by Frenchmen.

"I am not a bitch, whore, or cunt. How dare you foul Giovanni's mind with those words!"

"I already knew whore," Giovanni protested, "that is what they call Aunt Sancia."

"I don't care where you heard these words from you will not speak them."

"But I can think them?"

"You shouldn't."

"Grandpa Rodrigo…I mean His Holiness…says puttana and donnaccia all the time!"

"Rodrigo está una sucio edad hijo de puta." she snapped in Spanish, knowing Giovanni wasn't very fluent in that language.

"He is old, Lucrezia, but I do not think he is a bastard or dirty."

"You know I was not literal when I said dirty and don't give Giovanni anymore words to learn."

"My mistake then," he said with a smile.

"Idiotas."

"I promise I'll stop."

"They are both getting so old." She set little Rodrigo down, covering him up in the blankets.

"Giovanni doesn't understand anything we say." The three year old was leaning over Rodrigo, ignoring their boring talk because it had deviated from complete attention on him.

"I know, but it worries me. He's been asking questions lately about where he came from. I just tell him he came from God."

"That is one way to put it."

"You don't understand, you've never seen your daughter."

"I write to Camilla, Girolamo, and Louise regularly enough. The nuns are teaching her to write her name and Girolamo can write simple sentences. Just the other day Charlotte wrote me and had Louise scribble an incoherent sentence to me. I think it was something about coming to see them."

"Why don't you have them come to Rome?" He looked away from her eyes and towards Giovanni.

"Giovanni Borgia," he scolded, "put your codpiece back where it belongs and stop touching yourself."

"But it's tingly!"

"It is bad, Giovanni, all the time," he grabbed the boy and fixed his codpiece, smacking him on the head to make sure he understood.

"I remember that time I showed you my rag… I was far older than Giovanni."

"And a good deal more naive. He'll be trouble in the future. Go play outside!"

"Yes, Papa."

"He's like a good mixture between me and Pedro."

"I wouldn't say that."

"You never answered me."

"I was going to." He lifted his eyes skyward as he spoke, "Do you really think Charlotte and Louise should come here with all the intrigues?"

"I would bet France is just as bad."

"My wife would interfere with us."

"Cesare," her hands went to his shoulders. "There is no us. I go to Ferrara soon."

"It would be impossible with her around to be as imitate as we are. I like things now. I like being able to come and see Rodrigo and Giovanni whenever and visit you when I please."

"You are being selfish."

"For once I want to be."

"You act as if you aren't selfish all the time. Charlotte deserves a husband and Louise a father. Promise me you'll send for them after I go."

"Lucrezia…"

"Do it."

"I don't like living a lie."

"Our whole lives have been a lie and even now it is."

"I promise after you have left."

"Good."


	17. Chapter 17

Lucrezia, followed by her court and fifty maids―Alexander never spared any opulence when it came to her weddings―smiled gracious, hoping she was the picture of a dutiful wife. She had dressed in gold brocade and crimson velvet trimmed with ermine, sparing no fashion. She had heard Isabella d'Este, Duchess of Mantua, had sent a spy to see if she was as beautiful and well-dressed as they said. She wanted to please even her distant relatives. Her hair she kept up only by a black ribbon; she had worn it to remind herself of Cesare. A string of pearls with an emerald, ruby, and large pearl pendant adorned her throat.

Ferrante and Sigismondo led her, each taking one of her white, slender hands with besotted smiles. The musicians stationed at the steps of St. Peter's began playing. She was briefly reminded of the last Alfonso; he had been attacked upon those very steps.

Ambassadors from France, Spain, and Venice were present amongst the guests. Alexander was seated in regal splendor on his throne with Cesare, beard neatly trimmed and hair newly washed for the occasion, stood primly in mournful black beside him. When his eyes met hers she knew he suffered as much as she did and that for the sake of the House he was bearing the pain in a manner benefiting his station. Seeing his strength she resolved to be as indifferent to her pain as him.

She listened absently as the reading of the mandate of the Duke of Ferrara was read, after which the Bishop of Adria delivered the wedding sermon. She was grateful all of a sudden that Cesare hadn't been present to her first wedding to Giovanni. She tried to recall her wedding to the Duke of Bisceglie, but all she could remember was that Cesare had worn a unicorn mask at the feast afterwards and Alfonso's somber face throughout the ceremony. He had rarely been anything but animated in life, only occasions which warranted sobriety had made him stop smiling.

Ferrante held her hand since he was acting as proxy for Alfonso. Alexander was seated before them, looking on the verge of tears as he held her eyes. He sobered the next moment and gone was all trace of anxiety at her wedding and quickly approaching departure.

Ferrante spoke formally and loudly for the guests to hear, "This ring, illustrious Lady Lucrezia, the noble Alfonso, sends you of his own free will, and in his name I give to you."

"And I, of my own free will, thus accept it." The ring was nothing grand. She did not doubting that Ercole, who was rumored stingy, had refused to get a more costly ring.

After this Cardinal Ippolito showed her the jewels which she found lovely. The duke had sent her costly jewels worth thousands of ducats. She was not surprised when Ippolito cautiously worded his statement that should she be unfaithful the jewels could be retracted. Inside the box, were chains, rings, and earrings; all set with precious stones. Her favorite was a magnificent string of pearls. Ippolito for his part presented her with four beautiful crosses.

She was grateful when the attention was finally taken off her by the races and mock battle that took place. After the mock game, which found five wounded because they had used real weapons, the company retired to the Chamber of Parrots. Alexander sat on his throne, cardinals filling in to his left and Lucrezia, Ippolito, and Cesare to his right.

"Duke," Alexander was smiling as he addressed Cesare, "how about you dance with the new Duchess? Lucrezia will be leaving soon and I am sure you have conquests which will take you from Rome, therefore I desire to see you both dance together one last time."

Cesare stood, smiled, and offered his hand. She took his hand and he led the way to the dance floor. Neither of them spoke as they took their places. He moved his left foot forward, then back, and bent his knees gracefully as he bowed to her.

"Tell me what you think of Cardinal Ippolito," he inquired as the dancing began.

"He is very intelligent," she wasn't sure what he was fishing for.

"Do you think he will use his charms on our cousin?"

"Hasn't he already?" She clapped their hands together and they parted. He stamped his feet, moving so gracefully she nearly forgot her place.

"I am sure he has," he took her hand as the dance required, pressing it to his lips and releasing and doing the same with her right.

"I would think so," he took her right hand and they danced around each other, her eyes never leaving his masked face. The eyeholes had been made bigger for the occasion and from his mouth down there was no mask. She let go of his hand and slipped her left hand into the hand of the man beside her. They took a full turn and she spun around in a complete circle.

After their dance several ladies of the court danced in couples. The dance lasted an hour after which comedies followed. The court was dismissed after this, leaving only Lucrezia, Alexander, and her brother-in-law.

"Cardinal," Alexander began, still smiling as bright as ever, "you do know I am concerned for Lucrezia's safety in Ferrara."

"You have no need for concern."

"Stop talking, Cardinal. Let me finish." Ippolito looked at his red gloved hands. "I do not fear Lucrezia will take to the court in Ferrara. She is a good girl," he took her hand, that same hollowing look entering his eyes from earlier at the wedding sermon. "I do however fear this brother of yours. All I have heard from you and your brothers is how crude and boorish he is."

"His manners are ill suited for high society, but he has never, to my knowledge, caused outrage to a woman. I do not think the Duchess has to worry, expect that he might neglect her for a brothel or a maiden."

"You speak honest truth to me, Cardinal? You do not play me false like Sforza!" Alexander's sudden stormy look reminded her of Cesare. Ippolito shook his head violently, looking stunned at the change in Alexander. "Good then. My family is important to me, especially my children. I have lost one child, bless his soul, to folly and I refuse to lose another. Now we should begin the wedding banquet."

* * *

><p>"Five bulls Cesare slew yesterday, Angela," Lucrezia clapped her hands together.<p>

"He is performing excellently."

"Your mind isn't on Cesare though. Is Cardinal Ippolito so charming?"

"He is exquisite, do you not think so?"

"Handsome enough I suppose. I hope Alfonso is easy to look at. The problem with Ippolito is that he is a man and you a young girl still."

"I fancy he likes me. I am not so young for I've my monthly cycle already."

"Has he shown any desire besides one night of bedding?"

"He sent me this bracelet." Angela showed her the gleaming green and onyx gold band around her wrist. "If that is not a sign of great affection I do not know what is!"

"I have heard he doesn't frequent the brothels too often," she added thoughtfully, trying to puzzle out if Ippolito's intent was honest or not. "Be careful though. I wouldn't give yourself over too readily. Make him wait and you'll find out if he is constant then. You do not want one night that results in a child he will not acknowledge."

"When is the banquet tonight?"

"Shortly."

"I must have a beautiful dress, Lucrezia, or else his eye will stray."

"If he loves you he won't care what you are wearing."

That evening after eating a masque took place. She spotted Cesare immediately. His tall frame and drab garments gave him away. He wore a white mask with a feather and a black velvet cap. She stared through the entire masque at him, wishing that the sight of him dancing would burn itself into her mind and never leave.

The jousting the next day bore witness to Cesare's skill and daring. He was brilliant in his shining armor and helmet. His horse was caparisoned in black with gold hem and the Borgia insignia. He took defeat graciously and winning humbly.

* * *

><p>"Lucrezia."<p>

"Cesare." She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, kissing his lips urgently. She shuddered with delight as his hands roamed over her shoulders, down her back, and over her butt.

"You will be leaving tomorrow. Have you finished packing?" He led her to the bed where his black doublet lay disregarded. He flung it to the floor and pulled his chemise off and then his braies.

"I am ready to quit Rome, but I fear leaving so much. How can I leave? I can barely stand the thought!"

"Come here," he helped her out of her petticoat, getting frustrating at the lacing of her bodice. "Blasted thing."

"Do you care that I'm leaving?"

"Don't be stupid."

"I'm serious, Cesare."

"I wouldn't be so distressed lately if I didn't care."

"I like hearing you say you'll miss me. I fear this might be the last time we speak."

"Lucrezia," he grabbed her hands, kissing them in the tender gestures she had become so fond of. "You still have that ring with my hair right? With that you'll always have a part of me."

"I hate Ferrara already," she sunk into his arms.

"I hate Ferrara too, love," he caressed her golden hair, as acutely aware that this might be the last time as she was. "Let's take tonight slow and gentle. Make the most of it." Her fingers pressed against his shoulder.

"I want…"

"What?" She kissed him languidly on the mouth, tangling her fingers in his hair and pushing him back onto the bed.

"I want everything tonight. Let's not sleep tonight. I can get enough of that on the ride to Ferrara."

"If it becomes too unbearable write me and I'll drop what I am doing and spirit you away to Rome."

"You make it sound so easy."

"We are Borgia and nothing is impermissible to us."

"Get me with child, Cesare," she mumbled as she straddled him. "That way I'll have more of you than just a lock of hair."

"I'll try."

"You've fathered eleven children, damn it, you can get me with child."

"Four thank you very much," he mumbled as his arms grabbed her thighs lustfully.

"Lucrezia?" She waved her arm at him, smiling sleepily. "You must get up, it is late already and you are to leave today."

"Let me lay here a little longer, Chez."

"Crezia," he draped an arm around her shoulder, twining their fingers as he settled in behind her. "Get up or I will pull you to your feet and drag you to your room."

"You wouldn't dare."

"You challenge a Borgia, love?"

"Perhaps," she twisted in his arms, "the bed is cold without you. Why are you dressed already?"

"It is late. Please get up."

"I'm afraid."

"Don't talk like a commoner. A Borgia is afraid of nothing."

"You always talk of the Borgia like we are all conjoined, Cesare, but we are not. I am afraid. What kind of man am I being pawned off to now? You and Father will find another suitable husband in a year and kill this one."

"Don't say that."

"It is the truth though."

"You think so ill of us?"

"No, you know that isn't what I mean. Father will miss me and beg you to do something and you'll be so heart sick without me you will come riding into Ferrara under some pretext, lock Alfonso in a dungeon, and have Michelotto strangle him there."

"As I take you in his bed in the palace?"

"This time is for good you know. This d'Estea aren't cowardly like Giovanni or naive like Alfonso. He won't let me go once he has me, not unless it's in a convent or…"

"Be quiet. You talk nonsense this morning."

"Give me some of your strength."

"Don't I always?"

"I hate being a woman."

"I wouldn't love you if you weren't a woman, darling."

"Still. I wish…"

"Don't say what we both know can't and will never happen. We must play our parts, even if they are lonely ones. If you hadn't been my sister or I your brother…but what is the use in such wishful thinking? It cannot change a thing. We must be strong. Smile and hold my hand until the last moment. Our love will give you strength."

"Cesare?" She sat up and walked to the vanity.

"What, nymph?"

"Do you ever wonder…"

"What are you asking?"

"Do you think Father ordered the attack on Alfonso at St. Peters?"

"Why would you think he did it?"

"He hates politically useless allies."

"Father always said the Orsini must have," he paused, running a hand over his beard. "Thinking on the situation he was dissatisfied with Alfonso, but I can say nothing for certain. Let us just forget about the previous Alfonso. You dwell too long on that man."

"That man was my husband."

"Sometimes when you speak of him I hear a love struck girl."

"I never loved him," she met his eyes unwaveringly. "I only feel remorse for the end he suffered. Poison is a cruel death."

"No crueler than a dagger."

"Do you never regret the murders you've committed?"

"How many times have we been over this?"

"I just keep thinking on what he'd be doing now."

"Hunting probably. He did enjoy that or listening to a poet. Who cares? He wasted the time he had."

"Cesare, you are cruel."

"That is what they say."

"Let us not fight before I go."

"Then stop mentioning that man and your regret." He hated talking of Alfonso; he always felt his own inadequacy. Alfonso was the constant reminder of how he could never love her openly and that other men could. "I like to think if anything ever happened to me that you would show as much concern."

"I wouldn't care," he winced, but she continued, "I'd no longer be living."

* * *

><p>"Have you bedded Angela yet?" Cesare asked Ippolito.<p>

"Not yet. She is playing hard to get, but I like that."

"I hope Ferrara is not too different from Rome or else my sister and cousin will be homesick."

"I am sure Ferrara will shortly become like home to them."

"You speak well, Ippolito. You say like home, but not home. You reassure me even as you praise your lands. Good evasive rhetoric."

"Thank you, Duke."

"I will advise on caution though."

"With Angela?"

"No, she is a tart and quite ready to be plucked I imagine. I wish to advise you and your brother Alfonso."

"The Pope has already expressed himself on this point."

"I will reiterate then. If harms comes to her Ferrara will be held responsible."

"I understand."

"Do you, Cardinal? I will hold you personally responsible for her safety. Be aware she is the brightest jewel on my father's tiara."

"I am well aware."

"Good. Lucrezia," she brought her horse up to stride alongside his. "Let me hold your hand until we part."

"Yes, brother," she slipped her glove off and settled her warm hand into his. He glanced at Ippolito and smiled, looking like a bull about to charge. He turned to Lucrezia and spoke in Valencia, "Father and I will be desolate without you, my darling pearl."

"Cesare," her fingers squeezed tighter as if she feared letting go of his hand.

"You must write me often."

"I promise."

"Tell me immediately of this Alfonso. Do not mince words either. You must also tell me of the other inhabitants. You will be the Duchess of Ferrara someday and they should treat you with the respect you deserve."

"I will inform you of anything important."

"No matter how trivial it seems?"

"You only want me to tell you of the petty things so I have a reason to write. Should I write daily reports about my bathing habits and Alfonso's appetite? Or how good he is in a joust?"

"You will write if his appetite is less than appetizing?"

"I mean the literal sense of the word, you boor."

"You will tell me?"

"I vow I will."

"Good. I am curious to see how things progress with Angela and Ippolito; therefore you must continually inform me."

"You really want me to write daily? Don't you have more important things to know about?"

"None I find as interesting."

"You sound like a jealous lover. Perhaps Ippolito was right to be concerned."

"Your jests are crude."

"They are delightful."

"Cruder than I would expect from a lady."

"They are no worse than what you men always sprout off."

"Hush." They were all smiles and fluttering wrist touches. "This is where we part."

"So soon?" The sudden dawning of anxiety was clear in her eyes. He leapt from his horse and helped her down off hers. His pristine boots and hose spattered with mud from the landing. He pulled her into his arms, not caring he was marring her riding garments.

"I will miss you."

"I―." Tears were forming in her bright eyes. He embraced her, touching her silky hair and breathing in her scent. She had taken to wearing lavender again.

"Don't stop wearing this perfume," he said softly in her ear. "I love it. It always reminds me of you. Pure like a summer day."

"I am not pure."

"In my eyes you are."

"Do not say goodbye."

"I won't then, knowing we will see each other again soon." He remounted his horse and turned him around, not glancing back in case he would see tears falling from her lashes and down her porcelain cheeks.

* * *

><p>"We are stopping," Angela informed her as the litter slowed to a halt. Lucrezia, along with Angela and her other lady-in-waiting Catalina, a native of Valencia, climbed out. Her legs felt tingly as she walked off the road and into the grass. "Don't get your shoes muddy!"<p>

"I am fine, Angela." The air was crisp and she was quite sick of the jostling of the litter. Ferrara was a long way from Rome, she thought moodily, wishing the journey over with and done. She hated traveling; the raining when the weather was bad, the smell of horse dung when they stopped, and the bumpy ride over uneven ground was depressing. She loved stopping at all the towns on the way, seeing the different places and architecture of the buildings, admiring the wares in the marketplace, and moving about rather than being coped up.

"The day is nice. Just yesterday it was raining and I got my petticoat soaked," Angela complained. "I am going to grab something clean from one of the baggage carts."

"At least we are almost at Ferrara," she took Catalina's hand. "Do you think Ferrara is pleasant country?"

"I am sure it is," Catalina squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"I hope so. I've no intention of riding anytime soon, but eventually I'd like to tour the place. I hear they have plenty of monasteries in Ferrara."

"My brother use to joke that a place with a lot of monasteries usually has ugly women."

"Oh, that sounds like something Cesare would say." She smiled, "Bentivogli is close."

"Of course, Duchess." She fiddled with the agate ring, turning it this way and that and imaging Cesare saying a statement like Calatina's brother had.

They entered Castel Bentivogli and were well received there the next day, much to Lucrezia's exhausted delight.

"Your Excellency?" Lucrezia humored her with a weary smile. The maid leaned towards her gravely, whispered softly. Angela was humming with excitement at the prospect of rest and relaxation for a day or two. The maid nodded her head to where Ferrante was standing with a tall, bearded man.

"That is her, Ferrante?"

"Yes, Alfonso."

"Rather skinny."

"Pretty though no?"

"Beautiful. Her hair is a marvel. I wonder if she bleaches it. What am I saying; it's the fashionably thing in Rome so of course she does. Is she as simple minded as they say? Does she really lounge about all day and wash her hair?"

"I have heard she use to read the Pope's mail for him and that before that, during her…ah…second marriage she was quite renowned for the court she held."

"Isabella will hate her."

"I know."

"Wonderful."

"You shouldn't antagonize Isabella so much, Alfonso."

"Why not? Isabella thinks too highly of herself. I bet you ten ducats, brother, she'll hate Lucrezia for her hair alone."

"I wouldn't wager against you. I know our sister too well. Is she coming to Ferrara?"

"She is already there and huffing about and complaining to her husband because I didn't give her anything to do for the wedding. She was saying earlier she didn't even want to greet Lucrezia. Women's minds change too rapidly for my liking. I'm letting her host the banquet so that should cheer her sorry ass up."

"Poor Isabella," Ferrante was smiling though. He disliked Isabella as much as Alfonso did. "How is Father handling the expense of this marriage?"

"Ghastly," Alfonso's eyes twinkled with delight. "Bitching left and right about this or that for the wedding. He keeps saying he already paid for my first wedding to Anna and now he's bloody done. Very annoying."

"Remind him we will get much from our alliance to the Borgias. They are powerful people."

"For now, brother, but their House lies solely on the power of the Papacy. I can't wait for the bastard Pope to off himself during an orgy and leave that masked wearing freak son of his nothing. That will show them all that they aren't invincible."

"Must you always say things so rudely, Alfonso? True Valentino wears masks, but he has an adept mind, even I had a hard time placing him. He drew his dagger on Ippolito for a flippant remark about him and his cousin."

"What the hell did he say to offend him? Thank God I wasn't there or I'd have been fed to the dogs. Every word that comes out of my mouth, Father says, is offensive."

"I found very little upsets the Duke, but you can't under any circumstance mention his masks or lewd family relationships. Sets him off, brother, I really thought he was going to kill him. I saw him speaking to ambassadors with great calm as they threatened him and spat at him, saw Sancia slap him in the hall and walk off and he didn't even flinch. I guess even great men have certain peeves which you can't speak of."

"Huh, is it true what they say about Sancia?"

"Definitely. I thought about it and Sancia was offering, but I passed."

"You passed?" Alfonso's befuddled look didn't suit him.

"She has too many lovers and Ippolito was hinting he was considering it since Angela was leaving. His affection towards Angela Borgia, that girl beside Lucrezia now and her cousin, seemed genuine, but our brother is a worldly man." They shared a laugh.

"I don't expect faithfulness from the whore of Rome."

"Brother…"

"What?"

"Lucrezia may have a reputation which precedes her, but don't go into your marriage bed expecting a practiced lady of the night."

"Ferrante, no need to sugar coat a prostitute. No one here but the Borgias shit-for-brain men. Look at those eyes on her!" He was staring at his wife again. "A witch or nymph she could be with those eyes."

"I do believe there aren't any witchcraft stories about her yet so don't inspire them, Alfonso."

"I am going to go speak to her."

"I thought you said you only wanted a glimpse. Look at what you are wearing." Ferrante scowled at his tattered waist length houppelande, then the crude thin belt, and the scoffed turnhoes on his feet.

"She'll not know it's me." He whispered as he walked in her direction. He pressed a hand to his face and murmured a soft cuss, wondering why he had been born related to a man who preferred field work and smelling of piss and vomit. He was going to repulse the beautiful well-mannered creature.

Lucrezia smiled when he approached, dropping into a bow. He blinked, taken aback a moment. "Who do you think I am?" His voice he kept coarse like a common man. He was use to talking crudely anyway.

"My illustrious husband Alfonso d'Este, who I thought to meet at the official meeting once I arrived."

"How did you know it was me?"

"I have spies who told me what you look like and one who said you planned to surprise me." Her bluntness was refreshing when he was so used to the cool evasiveness of court.

"No, 'I guessed who you were from your regal bearing,' nonsense?"

"Your bearing, such as it is, is far from regal at the moment. Is that a hint of dung I detect on you?"

"Could be. I fell off my horse half way here. Blasted beast should be killed for throwing me. I take it your spies also made mention of my crudeness?"

"You have your brothers to thank for that. I am acutely aware that men are more often pigs in sheep's clothing. I do not refer to pretend otherwise nor do I think you do."

He smiled, "How do you like Ferrara so far?"

"I heard you have a lot of monasteries," she recalled her earlier conversation.

"We do."

"Then I've no need for fear of competition."

"I don't follow."

"I am told that a place with many convents and such produces a high amount of ugly women." He laughed at the joke, running a hand over his belly and smiling at her.

"You've a good mind to play at humoring my crudeness."

"Would you prefer I do otherwise?"

"I like being pandered to."

"I don't mind pandering to my husband so we are content then."

"So it would seem. Do you like hunting?"

"I go little to see men hunt. Angela prefers it. However I do like watching pottery being made."

"I take it your spies informed you I like to make pottery. I like cannons too, though I think your brother would appreciate that skill more. Is your brother as strange as they say?"

"If you mean does he wear masks then yes."

"They say he also abducted a young Venetian, is that true?"

"He finds the women of the Romagna willing enough. Why should he go to the hassle of abducting one insignificant lady?"

"I don't like your brother nor His Holiness's nepotism in regards to his family."

"You do like me though?"

"You are hard not to like."

"I am glad then. The rest of my family need not please you at all."

* * *

><p>At the wedding ceremony in Ferrara Lucrezia wore black velvet (in remembrance of Cesare) with gold brocaded cape and ermine. Her hair she set in a gold net and a necklace of rubies and pearls sat heavy on her breast. Alfonso wore red velvet and surprisingly enough wore it well. His beard, which she loved because it reminded her of Cesare, he even trimmed for the occasion. From what Ercole had grumbled yesterday it was hard to get Alfonso to bother even trimming, much less shaving, regularly.<p>

She spotted Angela and saw she was smiling at Giulio. Giulio was Ercole's youngest child and illegitimate. He was handsome enough, but she wondered why Angela's fancy had turned from Ippolito to Giulio all of a sudden. She supposed a young girl like Angela could be strayed easily given distance and a handsome face.

Isabella was standing beside her husband Francesco II Gonzaga of Mantua. The man wore his hair to his shoulders as her brother did, had a beard, and had the brownest set of eyes she had ever seen next to Cesare's. She was immediately reminded of Cesare at seeing him. Isabella, much to her chagrin, was spiteful at every turn. She had tried to be kind and understanding of Isabella's jealousy, but she found she couldn't handle it. Sancia and even Giulia to some extent had quarreled over which was more beautiful, but there had been no hurtful words during those exchanges. Isabella had made it clear she would rather kill herself than befriend her.

* * *

><p>Most illustrious Prince and Most Noble Lord,<p>

His Holiness the Pope, taking into consideration such matters as might occasion displeasure not only to your Excellency and to the Most Illustrious Don Alfonso, but also to the duchess and even to himself, has charged us to write to your Excellency to urge you so to contrive that the Lord Giovanni of Pesaro, who, as your Excellency is aware, is in Mantua, shall not be in Ferrara at the time of the nuptials. Notwithstanding that his divorce from the said duchess is absolutely legitimate and accomplished in accordance with pure truth, as is publicly known not only from the proceedings of the trial but also from the free confession of the said Don Giovanni, it is possible that he may still be actuated by some lingering ill-will; wherefore, should he find himself in any place where the said lady might be seen by him, her Excellency might, in consequence, be compelled to withdraw into privacy, to be spared the memory of the past. Wherefore, his Holiness exhorts your Excellency to provide with your habitual prudence against such a contingency. Rome, September 23.

Your ambassador,

Gianluca Pozzi

Ercole set the letter aside, wondering as he watched Lucrezia dance with Alfonso if this arrangement wasn't as bad as he had first presumed. Lucrezia's blackened reputation could be all fabrication. It had to be! How could a girl so lovely and gentle be as monstrous as they said? She had only been in Ferrara a short time, but her graciousness, her discreetness, and her gaiety where all apparent. Alfonso, who rarely expressed interest in anything outside his projects, had even taken to spending time in her presence. That had to mean something! Alfonso hated dancing, he hated court, and he hated poets; all of these he indulged in now to please his young wife.

"Marchesa Isabella?" His eldest daughter turned to him with a flattering smile.

"Yes, Duke?"

"Did you invite Giovanni Sforza to Mantua?" He had as Alexander put in his letter known Sforza to be there, but he had made no protestation against it because it hadn't concerned him.

"What makes you think I would do that? I am sure it was Francesco who let him come."

"You lie to me," he rapped his knuckles upon his knee, giving her a scolding look. She had often quelled under this look as a child, but as a grown woman she ignored his annoyance.

"I speak only what I know."

"See that Giovanni stays in Mantua or I will hear of it and do more than rebuke you, girl," his look was fierce. He did not tolerate disobedience, especially from his own offspring.

"Francesco," Isabella took his arm and stirred him away from where her father was, "Ercole knows about Sforza."

"Is that any surprise?" He spat, looking miffed as he glanced around the room, "and for God's sake don't mention that name too loudly. It was your idea to invite that man, not me."

"Don't be catty with me. You didn't say no to the idea."

"That was before a Borgia married into your House, darling."

"Are you saying we must now tiptoe around because a Borgia married my brother? Come now, such nonsense is beneath you."

"The Borgias don't like the Sforza, not since the alliance went south and they sided with the French. Don't look at me all innocent like Isabella, you know the political situation as well as I."

"I know only what you tell me husband."

"I know you have spies, wife. Be careful with this meddling in affairs. That man in our palace should leave as soon as possible."

"Why are you so concerned? He is causing no trouble. Even if the Borgias hear about it, they won't do anything because they are more preoccupied with their recent conquests. Elisabetta just the other day told me that the Duke of Valentinois…" Her speech halted when she saw Lucrezia approaching.

"You are talking of my brother?" Isabella smiled, but her gaze was frigid as they greeted Lucrezia.

"Elisabetta, Francesco's sister and wife of the Lord of Urbino, was telling me the Duke of Valentinois' man Vitellozzo Vitelli has been intriguing all over Tuscany."

"For what purpose?"

"Apparently to get to Florence. Vitelli holds a grudge because some Florentine officials murdered his brother."

"What kind of intrigue?" Cesare hadn't written in weeks and the last time he had written was to congratulate her on her arrival in Ferrara.

"He's been in correspondence with Piero de Medici and the Siena tyrant Pandolfo Petrucci."

"He has also been intriguing with Pisa," Francesco added.

"This information has come to my husband since he is, as you know, the Captain General of the Venetian army."

"I am aware of the Marque's title, thank you sister-in-law. This Vitelli is most certainly acting on his own. The Duke would not gamble with such a man as Vitelli appears to be. I am sure he is merely a speculator."

"I am sure you are right," Isabella conceded, grateful when Lucrezia smiled and walked on. "Insufferable harpy thinks she's convinced me, Francesco, but I don't doubt her scheming brother has a hand in this. That Borgia has his hands in every ill deed known to man."

"Unless you are reading the Duke's private missives with Vitelli himself I trust you will keep your opinion to yourself. I find Alfonso's wife charming and an equal for you, darling." She glared after him, secretly worried he fancied Lucrezia over her. His smiles came too readily in her presence.


	18. Chapter 18

I hate being sick during my birthday :) in story related news Lucrezia's birthday is April18, if only I'd been born an hour later we would have share birthdays.

Happy when your born,

Happy when your young,

Happy when your old and grey,

Congratulations here's to you,

Happy birthday from everyone to...

Let me know if you know what anime this is from by finishing the last word :) Enjoy.

* * *

><p>Cesare smiled gleefully. France and Spain were fighting over Naples like two children over a toy. The French Viceroy Louis d'Armagnac and the Spanish Captain Gonzalo de Cordoba he had heard were almost at blows.<p>

He was even more pleased when on June fifth he received word that Vitelli, urged on by the cries of "Medici" and "Marzocco" had been summoned to the city of Arezzo. This was exactly as he had planned since Faenza. Finally nothing was going astray for once.

Alexander in reply to accusations that he was helping Vitelli launched a Bull against them, provoked by the poisoning of the Bishop de'Pazzi. Cesare didn't mind; Alexander knew what he was doing.

He knew the Florentines were probably cursing the day they had signed that treaty and given Cesare pretext to weaken their state. On June tenth Pisa, ever loving supporters of him, declared they were flying his flag and waiting for him to come take the city as his. Cesare, though he found it tempting, refused because foresight cautioned that the offense might be too great to France. He could do without the French troops, but he could not fight against that great power as he was.

He left Rome to go to Spoleto and ready his army for another conquest; this time he would take Camerino. As he preparing to take Camerino news arrived that Guidobaldo da Montefeltre, Duke of Urbino, was arming men and raising funds to assist Camerino. There was also news of a planned assault on his artillery, which he had sent with little guard. This news annoyed him so much he wrote the Pope a letter. He, of course, noticed the pretest for attack the Duke of Urbino had given him.

He set up in Nocera and wrote to Guidobaldo that he was marching on Camerino and begged him to provide provisions and send them to Gubbio, which he said he would reach the next day. He also wrote that Vitelli needed a thousand men for support in Tuscany, which Guidobaldo had earlier refused to supply without consent from the Pope. He concluded the letter with brotherly affection and had it sent on its way as he prepared to march from Nocera to Cagli. He left his baggage and went with only three days' worth of provisions for the troops. He took Urbino with the crafty swiftness his enemies had come to fear.

He advanced from the south as a thousand men marched from the east and twice that were coming from the passes of Sant'Angelo and Verucchio in the north. They were going to surround the capital, leaving no way for escape. He gained word after they took the capital that Guidobaldo had fled to Ravenna and laughed; it seemed all his enemies gathered in that city.

He issued an edict against pillage and violence in Urbino for the palace and city were too charming to spoil and he was sick of bloodshed still from Capua.

He sent word to Florence that a representative should be sent so that an agreement could be reached between them. The Florentine sent Bishop Soderini as ambassador.

"Bishop Soderini," he smiled warmly, "How was your travel? Not too uncomfortable I take it?"

"It was surprisingly pleasant. Is the library here as brilliant as they say?"

"I am sending most of the important works to Cesena. I prefer the city over Urbino."

"I see."

"Who is this man behind you, Bishop?"

"This is Niccolò Machiavelli. He is my secretary." Niccolò was lean with wide-set eyes and prominent cheekbones. Cesare saw the gleam of intelligence in those dark eyes.

"I am very angry at your city and you know why don't you?"

"I can hazard a guess, but would prefer for clarity's sake we not be obscure."

"Forno dei Campi was well planned," he held his hands behind his back as he walked over to the nearest window.

"By whom, Duke?" Machiavelli's scrutiny amused him. He guessed he was somewhere in his thirties, which meant he was wise enough to know men's vile ways and yet still idealistic enough to trust.

"By Florence of course," he answered with his characteristic lenient smile. "The city has cheated me of the promised money and troops. Am I to be overjoyed at being deceived?"

"The game of politics is unsound, Duke, as you well know," the Bishop began with a slightly wave of his veined hand. "Situations change rapidly and Florence meant no offense. The city was merely unease at your entrance into her lands. Is that not also understandable?"

"It is one thing to be distrusting and another to act against that fear."

"Florence was looking out for her own interests as you were in entering the territory."

"My interests you say and what would my interests be?"

"The same as Vitelli and Orsini, what else is there? You want more than just the Papal State now it would seem."

"My campaign has not been to tyrannize, but to extirpate tyrants. You smile secretary very meanly at your ambassador's words. Do you find something disingenuous about them?"

"Not in the ambassador."

"You find something disingenuous about me?"

"I would use the word ingenious rather. You're foretelling of future politics is moving."

"I do not follow you, Machiavelli," he turned away from them to stare out the window, watching several halberdiers pass below.

"I think you follow my train of thought well or perhaps it has not occurred to you someone would see through your actions and notice the underlying meaning to everything you do."

"Underlying meaning? That is an absurd declaration," he chuckled, giving Machiavelli an unflinching look of utter amusement. "What meaning, besides acquiring power, do you see in my motives?"

"You mistake me. I should rephrase what I said. I meant I've seen what underlying action rules your steps with Florence. The rest of it is quite correct. You do intend far more than the Papal States. You are trying to create something altogether different."

"You see only a small fragment, Machiavelli," he smiled keenly, liking the sharp man. He had a genius about him nearly rivaling his own.

"I understand your aims and I see how you plan to make it so. You are using Vitelli and Paolo Orsini. You never intended to take Florence at the moment; only to scare her into inaction while you dealt with other states. The conquest would come later when your power was more secure. Forno die Campi is only a cover of pretext to attack Florence later."

"Let us veer off this subject a moment and discuss what you two have come here for. I should like another treaty with Florence and because I cannot trust her government, as in the rulers who broke my trust, I need an assurance."

"You want the ruling members dismissed?"

"Your words, not mine, but I find the notion agreeable."

"Vitelli cannot be trusted."

"So?"

"He is your man."

"He will make no trouble after this. He doesn't have long you see."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't try to understand a mind more far reaching than yours, Bishop," Machiavelli looked into his eyes without any hint of emotion. "Only understand Vitelli will make no trouble because he won't be able to. It is not Vitelli or even Orsini we have to fear."

"Florence need not fear me at all. The Republic should declare herself, remaining neutral is never a good thing in politics. It leaves you at the mercy of both sides and should she declare she at least is given a chance for continuance should she choose prudently. Florence can be my friend or enemy. It is entirely up for her to decide. I only beg you to recall what becomes of my enemies and what joys my friends know."

* * *

><p>"What did you think of him, Niccolò?"<p>

"He is the devil in man's clothing," Machiavelli had never felt terror and delight surge within him from his head to his toes before.

"He is as unscrupulous as they say."

"He is worse. He was brilliant. He spoke of grand things to come," he paused contemplatively. "I must watch him closely for a man like that never speaks idly. It frightens even as it fascinates me."

"What did he say that moved you so? I recall nothing so compelling though he spoke well."

"He said much, yet it was not his words that moved me. It was what he didn't say, the implication in his eyes as he spoke of Paolo and Vitelli. He is hatching some devious ploy and those two are falling readily into it. Why trap his own men befuddles me. I am sure time will make it plain. As for Florence I fear we will be engulfed in this…" He paused when he realized who he was speaking to. He may have liked Soderini, but he couldn't speak too openly to him. Soderini didn't see Cesare Borgia's true aim of unification like he did.

"I am off to write to the Signory about him."

"Sing only his praises, Soderini. If you don't Florence may find herself another Capua."

"I intended to speak only kindly, he is an interesting man and one I wager I should be careful around. I've not seen you ever sweat during a meeting before. Is he that frightful?"

"What he intents for all of Italia frightens and delights me."

This lord is very magnificent and splendid, and so spirited in feats of arms that there is nothing so great but that it must seem small to him. In the pursuit of glory and in the acquisition of dominions he never rests, and he knows neither danger nor fatigue. He moves so swiftly that he arrives at a place before it is known that he has set out for it. He knows how to make himself beloved of his soldiers, and he has in his service the best men of Italy. These things render him victorious and formidable, and to these is yet to be added his perpetual good fortune. He argues with such sound reason that to dispute with him would be a long affair, for his wit and eloquence never fail him. I conclude this letter by assuring Florence that the duke has no intention of taking any possessions as the object of his campaign has not been to tyrannize, but to extirpate tyrants.

Your faithful ambassador,

Bishop of Soderini.

* * *

><p>"Most Illustrious and most Excellent Lady, our very dear sister," Alfonso paused as the servant touched her forehead with a damp clothing. "Do you think she hears what I am saying?"<p>

"I am sure she does," stated the doctor, "Giving her good news at a time like this might bring her back from the brink."

"I'll continue. He writes thus: Confident of the circumstance that there can be no more efficacious and salutary medicine for the indisposition from which you are at present suffering than the announcement of good and happy news, we advise you that at this very moment we have received sure tidings of the capture of Camerino. We beg that you will do honor to this message by an immediate improvement, and inform us of it, because, tormented as we are to know you so ill, nothing, not even this felicitous event, can suffice to afford us pleasure. We beg you also kindly to convey the present to the Illustrious Lord Don Alfonso, your husband and our beloved brother-in-law, to whom we are not writing today." Alfonso paused briefly to glance up at Ercole's entrance and resumed, "Cesare Borgia, Your Excellency's brother, who loves you better than himself…"

"I doubt reading her correspondence from her brother is bound to improve her health," Ercole moved from the doorway to stand at the end of the bed. "Come away, son, let her be. Her health will return or not on its own."

"She is dying."

"It might be. If she is than you can get a new bride; if not you are no worse off."

"You heartless ass I love her!"

"You do?"

"Yes."

"Pray then and leave her to rest."

"Piss face," Alfonso stood, setting the letter on the table and stopping just short of Ercole. "You are being a swine!"

"You are being overly sentimental about a wife you complained for months about not wanting." Ercole angrily backed away, glanced briefly at Lucrezia's sweaty frail figure, and walked out.

* * *

><p>The French were coming for Naples and this Tuscany business didn't please Louis. Rumor had it that Louis XII was resentful and mistrusting of him since his success of the conquering the Romagna. Milan became flooded with Cesare's enemies, which he found absolutely amusing. Cesare, never without spies, had the King's ear due to a certain chamberlain. This chamberlain made Louis' intentions clear; Florence was not to be troubled further. Cesare was forced, as he had always known he would be, to withdraw Vitelli and supporters from Arezzo. Vitelli withdrew angrily out of Tuscany and began sprouting dislike at his intervention, as Cesare had known he would. This would, if things went right, quickly manifest to hate and outright violence promoting by Vitelli.<p>

Cesare, content with Vitelli's anger, left Urbino for Milan in secret. He paused for fresh horses at Forli and received word which distressed him beyond measure and threw him into a terrible fit upon his private quarters. When Michelotto managed to pry the door open ten minutes later the room was destroyed. The bed was torn, the table toppled and splintering, the curtains on the floor in tatters, the food and wine spattered on the floor and walls. Cesare lay in a heap in the middle of the room. He picked him up and lifted him to his feet.

"What the hell is the matter?"

"Lucrezia…"

"What about the Duchess?"

"They think she will die."

"From what?"

"Fever brought on from a stillbirth."

"Women bear birth as easily as men fight bulls." Michelotto grabbed his hand. "She is a strong woman which I can attest to myself. Have no fear for her safety, Duke."

"We must go to her immediately," he was gaining his wits back and Michelotto was relieved. Seeing Cesare Borgia without his wits about him was a most unpleasant sight. "Have new horses been arranged yet?"

"Yes."

"We leave for Ferrara and then to Louis in Milan."

"Excellent. We should see her before we go to Milan."

"What will I do if she dies, old friend?" The question so disarmed him he fell absolutely silent.

"You'll be inconsolable I imagine. Probably tear your hair out and claw at your face. Isn't that what Romans use to do?"

"And plunge their swords into their guts," his desolate eyes frightened Michelotto.

"Not before you get revenge I take it?" Michelotto had to pry him from his despair somehow and vengeance was a means to an end.

"Ferrara," he spoke like he had never heard the word before. His dark eyes, not logical pools of conniving wisdom, but the wretched eyes of a man on the verge of devastation, gleamed brightly in the candlelight. "If she dies," his voice had never faltered as it did now. "I will gather every child, woman, and man of each town in Ferrara, and there by my own hand, I will make Capua a reality once more."

Michelotto prayed he never saw the day she died; he had known Cesare since he was a boy in Pisa and found seeing him like this unbearable, never had the man looked closer to a living death.

"Enough of this. Let's get the horses and see for ourselves."

"Right."

"Duke, if you did purposely remake Capua I would leave your service."

"Good to know you've some morals, Michelotto," he cracked a small smile. Michelotto smiled back; there was only so much even an easy going man like him could take.

He rode with only Michelotto and four attendants, whipping the horse furiously and hoping he wasn't too late. They crawled through the gate at an agonizing pace and entered the walled city of Ferrara. He passed by the Ferraresi without glancing at any of them, staring straight ahead at the looming palace and wondering which room housed his ill sister.

The halberdiers at the ornate palace entrance blocked his passage. "No entry unless accompanied by a d'Este relation or order of the Duke."

"Move out of my way! I am Duke of Valentinois and demand entrance! My sister is Lucrezia Borgia!"

"Do you know how many fraudulent claims we get seeking admittance to speak to the Duke, boy? Push off and take your rabble with."

"How dare you address me in a manner unbecoming of my rank! I order you, as Lord of the Romagna, to step aside! If you resist my companions and I will use force."

"What is going on here?" A tall young man with fashionable hair cut approached. He worn riding grab and a sword and dagger hung at his belt. The lady holding his arm was dressed in riding clothing too. Her curly hair framed her dark eyes, pearls hung from her ears, and ermine lined her neck. Her jeweled hand clung to his arm. Her manner and clothing incensed him; she was a striking reminder of his sister.

"These fools dare block the way of Cesare Borgia! I will have them hanged."

The man laughed, pressing a gloved hand to his mouth in his mirth. The woman beside him didn't bother to cover her open laugher.

"Do you hear this little upstart, sister, he claims he is Cesare Borgia!"

"I am."

"Cesare Borgia is in the Romagna and last I heard was settled at Urbino. I don't take kindly to this Borgia's name being brought up, especially since his distasteful actions towards Urbino. I wager you would be better off going by the name of King Charles than Borgia here. If you are going to lie pick a name that is an ally."

"Borgia," the lady gave a snort, looking at him with a fierce gleam in her disbelieving eyes.

"You think you d'Este would be more gracious to the House you married your eldest into," Cesare drew his sword, "step aside if you know what is good for you and let me pass."

Realizing he was serious the man drew his own sword, "I never did do what my father always said was good for me."

"Your name before we begin?"

"Giulio and that is all a dead man need know."

Giulio lunged hastily forward and Cesare parried. Lung, parry, sidestep; the movement of the fight became a blur as both men fought violently. Giulio had the initiative and kept up his aggressive moves with ease. Cesare patiently played the offensive, calmly leaping out of the way of death blows and sidestepping slashes intended to take his limps off. Giulio was good at thrusting and several times Cesare narrowly avoided certain injury. This dueling was nothing like real battle.

Giulio lunged at him and he kneed him in the gut before backing away as he took to flailing his sword about. "Come on, dog!" His next attack was a feint aimed for his left shoulder. He cursed as his shoulder got nicked.

Giulio lunged once more, Cesare stepped aside, grabbed his hand, and put his sword point to the other's throat. He felt the sharp sting of steel press against his gut and looked down to find Giulio held his stiletto there. "No one ever said anything about playing fair."

"One would think a d'Este would have more honor."

"Honor has nothing to do with survival."

"Who are you?"

"I am Giulio, son of the Duke of Ferrara."

"You know I really am Cesare Borgia."

"Right and I am the King of Spain."

"His Holiness would disapprove of bloodshed," Michelotto said when neither man moved away from each other.

"I did not ask your opinion, Michelotto." He pushed Giulio away, letting him scramble to his feet and watched as he brushed the dirt off. "You will escort me to my sister."

"That is the last thing I'll do," Giulio scowled, his pride clearly hurt, even if the match had been a draw.

"What in God's name is going on here?" Sigismondo accompanied by Alfonso came sailing down the palace steps.

"Brother, this ruffian and his gaggle of men attacked our brother."

"I wasn't asking you Isabella," Sigismondo spat. "What happened, Duke?"

"We were trying to get into the palace to see Lucrezia. Is she as ill as Alfonso wrote?"

"My wife is ill, Duke," Alfonso said, meeting Cesare's speculative eyes. "I pray she pulls through, but I thought to summon you if she should not. I am eternally grateful you have come. I will personally show you to her room if you will allow it."

"Of course."

"No way that is actually Cesare Borgia," Giulio wiped his sweaty brow, "Is it, Sigismondo?"

"Let's hope Valentino doesn't hold this day against you, brother," he gave an amused smile of enjoyment at his brother's unlucky foolhardier.

"I was expecting someone taller," Isabella piped in, "at least he knows how to use his weapon."

"I just fought Valentino."

"I think we should be grateful you lived then and make sure we continually check your food and drink while he is here."

"Yes, good idea."

"I won't forgive him for ousting Francesco's sister Elisabetta from Urbino."

"Nor I."

"Even though you've forgiven Lucrezia it?"

"She isn't her brother."

"I see."

* * *

><p>He paused before the door, taking a deep breath and trying to still his quavering fears. He went in. Lucrezia lay very motionless, only her chest rising through the thin sweat soaked gauze of her loose chemise.<p>

"Crezia?" He sat beside her on the bed, amazed at the deteriorated state she was in. Her hair was lusterless, her eyes closed and puffy, and her skin pale. He touched her cheek, frowning at the clamminess of her skin. "Crezia, it's me, Cesare…" He uncovered her upper body and took her hand, pressing his lips to her lifeless fingers.

"She is sleeping. They have been bleeding her regularly and it tires her out."

"Can you leave us for a bit," he asked.

"She won't respond at the moment. When she is more lucid she might…" Alfonso shut the door after him, talking in hushed tones to the doctors waiting outside.

He squeezed her hand and set it gently onto the bed, smoothing out each finger and kissing each knuckle affectionately.

"This is not the way I should have liked to see you again, Lucrezia." He reached up and yanked his mask off, setting it on the bedside table next to the water basin. He took the cloth off her forehead and dampened it in the basin, hands surprisingly steady as he dabbed her forehead, nose, checks, and neck.

"You need to get better for me and for Father. How will he take this news do you think? He'll go into a panic. He might die this time and who would he blame in the afterlife, love, hm?" He wrung out the extra water into the basin and placed the cloth on her forehead. He pushed her hair out of her face, twirling the gold strands around his fingers. He kissed her nose and each cheek tenderly.

"You can't leave me, not when we have almost achieved everything…" he cupped her checks, rubbing her soft hair between his fingers as he stroked her face. "I say we, but you know how my vanity is. I did it for me. I wanted the glory and the power that came with being the sole ruler, I know that and you knew it too. It was all vanity and pride. I wanted to protect our family, but I also wasn't averse to gaining some renown. Forgive me," he kissed her lips, chapped and unmoving though they were. "You were always the best of us. Don't die. Stay for me. I need you here. What am I to do without you? What is all this power, glory, and safety for if the only other person I did this for dies before I grasp it?"

"Duke?" He turned slowly, like a startled deer and stared at the doctor with the basin blankly. "We've come to bleed her again."

"Now?"

"Yes. We bleed her regularly."

"Will she live?"

"Only the Lord knows."

"To hell with your God, tell me the truth!" The doctors exchanged uncertain looks. "Please."

"We cannot say with any certainty, Duke. If her body is strong she will live." Lucrezia had never had a strong body, bruising easy as a child when she fell. He couldn't count how many times she had climbed into his arms to cry after a scraped knee. One time she had fallen from Juan's beloved climbing tree after trying to imitate him and had suffered a sprained ankle when jumping down, even though Juan, Cesare, and little Jofre landed the jump with ease.

He had never felt the icy touch of fear before, but it coursed through him now with a ferocity that only later would bring him to his knees.

"Cesare? It that your voice?" Her eyes opened and her head turned towards him.

"It is I, sweet sister. Is your pain great?"

"It is tolerable at the moment."

"Poor darling," he kissed her hand repeatedly.

"What news of the Romagna?"

"I do not care to discuss news with you. Look at how ill you are!"

"I am fine."

"You do not see yourself."

"You've never called me ugly before." He smiled despite himself.

"The doctors wish to bleed you."

"That tires me…"

"I'll be here to make it better," he signaled for the doctors to do their work.

He held her as they bleed her and stayed two hours with her, cheering her by imitating cardinals and Romans they had both known. Lucrezia, tired from the bleeding, slept peacefully once more.

"She must live. Assure me she will live."

"We can promise nothing," the man was trembling for fear of his own life.

"She must live." He squeezed her hand and kissed her cheeks before he withdrew. "Gather the d'Este household for me, Michelotto," he pulled his mask on.

"For what purpose?"

"Why must you question every order?"

"I do nothing without being informed of my reasons. You have known that since we began this. I may be lax morally, but I am not heartless."

"I wish to speak to Ercole d'Este and make sure the duke understands my position."

"You intend to intimidate him? Is that prudent or even sensible?"

"Did I say anything about intimidation?"

"No."

"I thought not. Go fetch them for me."

* * *

><p>Ercole d'Este frowned as he sat down, glancing at Ippolito's furrowed brow and Alfonso's pacing figure. Isabella was nearly about to chew a hole in her kerchief. "Why is everyone so agitated this evening?"<p>

"Cesare Borgia is in our palace and demanding our audience and you wonder why we are irritated?"

"Relax, Alfonso, I see no reason to get worked up."

"You are blind. We have Valentino in our palace! Why aren't you as concerned as the rest of us?"

"I don't fear that boy. Let him come and say his peace and be gone. I would like to see this Valentino for myself before he goes off. I heard he is quite terrible. Rumors speak as ill of him as they do Lucrezia. I heard you got into a brawl with him Giulio?"

"Let us merely say Valentino came here without much escort and I mistook him and we got into a duel. No further details are necessary and I hope to soon forget the unpleasant business, Duke."

"The rumors about Lucrezia may have been false, but they are not concerning the bastard maggot that is Valentino," Ferrante supplied, rubbing his forehead.

"I appreciate the cussing," Alfonso said, smiling.

"We have nothing to worry over. Valentino cannot move against Ferrara. He wouldn't dare."

"He deposes dukes on a daily basis. I do not think he would mind killing us and cardinals he invites to lethal feasts. I wonder if he'll get rid of me through poison? That way seems like it would be more gentlemanly."

"I am sure it hurts like a bitch," Alfonso slapped him on the back.

"You overreact as usual," Giulio stated, "he seems to have some gallantry when I fought him."

"No one cares what a bastard thinks," he roared back.

"A bit explicit for you."

"Eat shit and die, maggot."

"Would Christ speak so?"

"Stop quarreling, brothers," Sigismondo threw an arm around Giulio's neck. "I have a hangover and hearing that Borgia is here isn't helping it none."

"What do you think he wants?" Isabella asked as he approached where Ercole sat.

"He desires reassurance about our alliance should Lucrezia die."

"Lucrezia won't die."

"You sound concerned, Alfonso," Isabella waved her kerchief around. "Are you really that fond of her? I heard you still go about Ferrara at night." The implication that he visited brothels and chased after the occasional milk maid was evident to all the d'Este.

"Lust and love are entirely different, Isabella."

"I am sure," she rolled her eyes.

"Alfonso has a point. Few men are ever faithful. It is the way God made us," Ferrante stated this solemnly like he was giving a benediction.

"I was only unfaithful to Eleanor with one woman and that only to keep rumors at bay." A man who didn't have at least one mistress was usually regarded as enjoying boys or the opposite sex more.

"Am I interrupting bonding time amongst the d'Este?"

"More like torture, Duke of Valentinois," Sigismondo crossed his arms.

"How is everyone this evening?" He was donned in the black rumors said he always wore; a black mask covering his face, the dark colors accented his auburn hair.

"I'm inclined toward contemplation," Ercole said with a sagely smile. "I am old though and more often thoughtful about everything these days. I am far less excitable than when I was younger."

"Age lends great wisdom they say," he walked up to where Ercole sat. His elderly appearance was well established by his wrinkled face and gray eyebrows. His hair was cut in the fashionable shoulder length of the day. His eyes were the same brown as Alfonso and Ippolito, but without Alfonso's jauntiness and Ippolito's envy. The startling surety and cunning were well concealed to most in those eyes. Ercole was assured that he wouldn't see anything more than a tired old man; Cesare saw the shrewd ruler who had kept Ferrara from succumbing to Venice and Pope Sixtus IV's domination years ago. He had tactfully handed over Polesine to secure the rest of his territory stayed under his rule.

"Age tires one out, Duke, and leads to death so that the young may inherit."

"True enough," his hands crossed lazily as they landed agilely onto his bent right knee. He was now level with Ercole. "No one likes to hasten their death though and give too readily into the young. They get big egos then, no?"

"Certainly. How is Pope Alexander?" The absent inquire meant far more than Ercole indicated in actual words. He was applying their discussion about old age to Alexander. He knew the rumors that Cesare reined in the Vatican and Alexander conceded everything to him. He was also adeptly using his own words against him and stating cleverly that Cesare had a gigantic ego. He was astonishingly impressed with the duke.

"His Holiness thrives," he smiled meanly, finding Ercole interesting. He had to play this game carefully now or he was going to make an ass out of himself. "He has never lacked robustness as some men do and his appetites are maintained even at his advanced age."

Ercole's eyebrow rose in acknowledgement of the slight. All accounts said Ercole hadn't taken a courtesan, mistress, or wife since Eleanor had died.

"Alexander is lucky to have retained his virility. I do wonder how he has the time for any Papal business, but there are others would see to it while he enjoys his frivolous lifestyle."

"His Holiness," he put extra emphasis on the title, aware that Ercole was slighting Alexander in his pretend formality, "has many duties and runs the Vatican no worse than any of his predecessors. The treasury has never been fuller."

"Cardinals tend to die from the fever in Rome easily these days," Ercole stated, his brown eyes unwavering at the accusation of poison. Cardinal hats could be sold for a hefty amount once the spots were open. "He creates cardinals too easily as well."

"He has need of good souls to fill the Vatican," he waved a hand, "Ferrara could use some pious cardinals."

Ercole looked away from him, glancing at his hand which toyed with a loose strand of the cushioned armrest. Ippolito was far from a good cardinal and lacked love of the Church or rather ambition to be Pope. Ercole knew this, but hated having it mentioned. The threat of more cardinals in Ferrara, though stated like a noble thing, was far removed from it. Papal legates made effective spies for the Church and worked like ambassadors to get the political alliance of the states they went to.

"Ferrara is in service to the Papacy for as long as time unmemorable and will continue to obey the word of the Vicar of Christ." Ercole was a sincere believer of the Christian faith from what Cesare heard of him; he often visited monasteries and ordered painters to illustrate bible stories rather than secular narratives.

"His Holiness appreciates your faithfulness in all the forms it takes, Duke," he smiled genteelly. "How is my cousin Angela Borgia?"

"The lady may be summoned if you would prefer to direct your inquire to her in person."

"I do not require her presence. She is well I trust?"

"Never have her cheeks been graced with more life." Ercole was sneakily implying Angela was more content in Ferrara.

"I am sure a d'Este keeps her company. I am grateful only one member of my illustrious House suffers in Ferrara."

"You will excuse me for interceding, Duke," Alfonso took a step closer to them. "Lucrezia is very dear to this household and I do not desire you to harbor an impression to the contrary. Things have not been as smooth as one would like, I will not deny adjustments have been hard for both families, but Lucrezia is well loved here."

Cesare said nothing, shaking his auburn head. The contract between the black of his doublet and mask against the brilliance of his hair and the intensity of his brown eyes bore on Alfonso with a look that was not altogether unsympathetic.

"Do you harbor great affection for my sister?"

"I do."

"A man unashamed to admit fondness towards his wife is rare. I take it age would tend more prudence."

"Age does not make men more practical," Ercole sat straighter, "it makes them more sentimental."

"Sentimental is a word I would not use to describe myself."

"Few young men do. Effrontery and impetuous are good words for young bastards like you and Alfonso."

"You consider yourself sentimental?"

"I have my moments, like when my children marry or have brats of their own or when they make me proud. Those are the moments men like I relish, we do not long for blood soaked battlefields and the decadence of courtly life. A person who has never enjoyed anything outside those pursuits does not know life to its full extent." There was meant no slight to Cesare in the last sentence; just a kind of contemplative otherworldliness.

Ercole's eyes were astute, but they were also the eyes of a man who had seen too much war and too little of life's joys, the sort of man who had worked for his state and kept his family at a distance, the eyes of a man Cesare knew he was readily becoming.

From the expression on Isabella's face she disbelieved his sentimental notions and thought he was hatching some clever scheme; Sigismondo and Ferrante where not bothered to pay much attention. Alfonso looked befuddled by the sudden show of emotion, not seeming to know what to do next as he wavered between going to his father and staying still.

This was no false pretense of an old man, no decisive duplicity or clever plot were in the eyes of the troubled man. Cesare took the weathered hand with prominent veins and long scaly fingers and kissed the wrinkled skin. Ercole, eyes slightly wide in his broad face, smiled warmly after a moment of hesitation. Their aims were different in life; Ercole longed for peace and security for his land; Cesare held war in his hand and a goal greater than his own person. They were two very different men in all important regards expect one.

"I understand, Duke," he softly pressed the man's hand. "Let's not continue this bickering. Let us say nothing more, but reciprocations of loyalty and friendship."

"I thought you would ask for vengeance should Lucrezia die."

"Tell me, Duke, did you love your wife?"

"Eleanor…was a good woman," Ercole's face said far more than any verbal words could have.

"What did you do when she died?"

"You ask me to remember a time that was very bleak for me, Valentino."

"What pulled you through?"

"The same thing that pulls all men through hardship."

"What would that be?"

"Every human knows what I speak of to some degree. No man may deny its divine touch though he tries."

"God," Sigismondo crossed himself dutifully though his actions held no drive.

"I understand what you mean, even someone they label as cruel as I knows that." Sigismondo was severely mistaken, it was not God, but love which touched all men.

"My fears envisioned you a monstrous sort, heartless to the point of obscenity. I find you no worse than any prince of this age, arrogant, demanding and prudent, but no worse than your predecessors."

"I am glad to have alleviated your fears. I find my own fears put to rest as well. My sister is in good hands as long as you live."

"You are too kind."

"Nothing of the sort." He stood, a genuine smile sufficing his face. "We will stay only a day or two and then depart. Is that agreeable?"

"I suppose."

* * *

><p>"We will depart immediately. If Lucrezia's condition worsens send word and we will come back as swiftly as we arrived."<p>

"Where do you head to?" Alfonso inquired, standing to Ercole's left.

"Milan."

"May I come with you?"

"What for?"

"Francesco Gonzaga is there. He is my sister's husband."

"I am aware of who the Marquis of Mantua is."

"You are also aware of…"

"Indeed."

"Let me speak to Francesco. He switches his position to whichever is more prudent."

"Come with then and convince him to take the action that is most beneficial to him."

"I will."

As they walked to the horses Cesare glanced at Alfonso, wondering if Lucrezia found him handsome and endearing. "Let us visit Lucrezia's room before we go. I would like to see if she is awake."

"Certainly."

Lucrezia's hair was disarrayed, her skin colorless, and body as listless as before; only her eyes gleamed with life.

"Sweet sister," he descended to her bedside, taking her face between his hands and smothering her damp skin with kisses. Alfonso stood awkwardly to his right, looking uncertain and smiling unpleasantly.

"You are embarrassing me, brother," she pushed him away. "You are dressed as if you are leaving."

"I've important business which calls me away. Rebels don't cease to act just because ruler's do. Take care of your health and send word when you are better to Rome. His Holiness will write and inform me about you."

"I wish you would write me yourself."

"I dislike writing long letters and I hate leaving you unanswered as you always ask a million questions. What am I eating, am I bathing enough, how is the disease, is campaigning weather good…"

"I can't help but be curious. You told me to write you."

"It ill suits you. Write to me about yourself or Ferrara, but don't ask so many infernal questions. I'll write you when it pleases me to tell you of something. Don't hamper my messengers down with nothingness."

"It is not nothingness. I am concerned as the battlefield is not a great place to be."

"I am more often housed in the palaces of my cities rather than the battlefield. Have no fear for my health, if it ever faltered, which it hasn't to date I remind you, I'd send word to you before anyone else."

"Even before His Holiness?" She took his hand, bright eyes pleading. He cursed his own inability to not cave into her angelic face.

"I would write you both and send them off at the same time so I don't get pestered for not writing you both."

Her smile made her face glow as usual. He'd forgotten the great extent of his adulation for her, how it soared and burst like a blooming rose in his chest at the sight of her joy.

"Take care."

"Don't die."

"I won't."

"Goodbye for now."

"Goodbye," he gave her forehead a long kiss, holding her face and touching her feathery hair briefly before withdrawing and letting Alfonso have his peace.


	19. Chapter 19

"Your Majesty," Cesare prepared to bow and make a show of fealty.

"Cousin," Louis exclaimed joyously, embracing him as if they were actual blood relations. Slightly startled, but guessing this sudden strong affection from a man like Louis to be a political maneuver, he regained his wits and embraced him back just as warmly.

"I'll tell you later," Louis whispered in his ear. "Come, dear relative, let us ride forth to the palace of Milan. I've had splendid quarter prepared for your visit. How is your sister, I heard she was ill?"

"She thrives as all Borgia do when faced with a challenge."

"That is great." Louis mentioned his wife Anne and daughter Claude and after asking about Cesare's conquests and family, touched briefly on Charlotte's unhappiness without him. It was only after Louis and he were alone that he confided anything of political importance.

"Are you informed of your enemies?"

"Informed of what, Your Majesty?"

"The Duke of Urbino, a son of the deposed Lord of Camerino, Lord of Pesaro, and the Marquis of Mantua are running their mouths in Milan. They have stated great outrages and have tried to catch my ear in hope that I would betray you."

"You've no intention of betraying me."

"You sound confident," Louis esteemed men of certainty.

"I have every reason to be. You need me and I you."

"I do not need you, Valentino, you overestimate your worth."

"You do not need me then, but you do desire my alliance. You've helped make the Papal State strong once more and you've asked a moderate sum in return."

"You defied me in Tuscany."

"That was Vitelli's own doing. I had no part."

"So you and my spies report, but I know differently."

"Do you? Have you proof?"

"You say you know how I am, but that is a double edged sword, Duke, because I know you too."

"You have no idea about my intentions toward Tuscany."

"I've given you too much power," Louis stood, pacing the floor, stamping his feet. "You will desist from any action against those states with French protection!"

"I obey what you command."

"That is all," Louis went to the door, slamming it loudly as he departed. Cesare, leaning against the wall with an apple took a bite and waited. Michelotto entered, nodded to him, and went to the same door Louis had just exited. The King reentered with pleasure evident in his eyes as he approached the bed and sat. Any spies that had previously been listening no doubt left, running off to inform their masters of the king's tentative displeasure and Cesare's supposed arrogance. The picture they painted for their enemies done they both relaxed.

"Do you like your quarters?"

"They are sufficient. I do not plan to stay overlong."

"Good. I am annoyed with your behavior with Vitelli and Tuscany. You were trying to see how strong my allegiance to the Florentines is."

"You know I do not suffer insult well."

"You do not, but you are always politically minded and if called for you accept anything necessary. If Charles had lived and decided he wanted to ally with the Papacy and return instead of me you would have jumped at the chance since Spain gave you no affection after the Duke of Gandia."

"I will not state anything to the contrary."

"If the Florentine became friendly you'd forgive them."

"I would not."

"Why ever not?" Louis was perplexed now. Cesare bit into his apple as Louis worked hard to understand his reasoning.

"I hold grudges."

"Forno de Campi is hardly worth begrudging now. You want to conquer Florence?"

"You know I desire nothing of the sort, but Florence has been evasive and untrustworthy. How can I take her hand in good faith when she does not show reasons for trust?"

"No state can show this absolute trustworthiness you desire, Cesare, what is the real reason?"

"It matters little."

"I will not allow you to take all of Italia."

"Louis―."

"You are not the only one who sees your aims, Cesare, and worries at your grandiose ideas. Naples will remain a French and Spanish divided dominion. As for Florence she will continue to enjoy my protection."

"You made a great mistake with Naples," he took several bites and held the apple up. "Each bite taken from this apple signifies Spain's portions of Naples. How long do you think it will be before Ferdinand and Isabella become greedier and take another bite out of Naples?" He bit for emphasis, "Less for France until nothing but a core remains."

"I will contest any and all expansion on their part as they will me."

"You mistake their cunning, they will con you out of Naples soon enough. Dividing Naples when there was no need for you to do so was your gravest mistake. You should not have done this. You've given into Ferdinand's ploy. You spent the time and resources into the expedition and after you conquered Naples just to avoid war with Spain you kowtowed to Ferdinand. You could have been in his position if you'd played better or better yet not have given him any of Naples, which weakens Spain and strengthens France."

"Do not tell me―."

"That you are failure?"

"How dare you!" Louis, though visibly vexed, was also admiring his bravery when insulting a King.

"It is merely how history will regard you, Louis, that is all. You can still wrestle Naples from Spain, but at great cost and potential war. I suggest a solution which has a much better outcome."

"Give you Naples?"

"Exactly. I would of course be declaring war on Spain, but it cannot be helped. Give your strongholds without a fight to me and let me deal with the backlash from Spain."

"Give you half of Italia and put you in a prime position to take the few remaining states of Siena, Mantua, and others?"

"You are spot on once more."

"If I refuse you would declare war on me?"

"Why should you refuse Louis? This is advantageous to both of us."

"How is this to my benefit?"

"I help you weaken her and give you a potential ally against Spain."

"Spain would see our ploy miles away."

"And not be able to counter it."

"Other rulers, like Maximilian I of the Holy Roman Empire, won't allow us to divide Spain so easily."

"Maximilian would stop us how?"

"He could easily attack one of us if we dared to take Spain."

"But would he?"

"What do you mean? Do you mean we give him some of Spain?"

"No. We appease him with the New World."

"I give you Naples, thus strengthening you and weakening Spain and together we attack her. Maximilian we give the New World that belongs to Spain. How would we divide Spain amongst us?"

"We wouldn't. As payment for helping me unity the Italia you get all of Spain."

"You would put French in a great advantage. We…"

"You could easily betray me with the power of France and Spain united. I would block all efforts of evasion by allying with you or Maximilian should one of you cross me."

"You would put us into a stalemate."

"Exactly."

"Well played, but the question hinges on how easily Spain succumbs in Naples and then later against us."

"Frances loses very little in this deal and could gain much. If you hand your half of Naples over to me, my troops would fight Spain and with a little French aid, which we would only need should Spain become aggressive beyond reason, we win. I would get a state and you a great empire."

"When did this conquest first occur to you?"

"That is a funny question."

"It is not a plan one come up with off the cuff. I would not have thought of it."

"You must deny me Naples at first. You must play it as if we are bitter enemies when I take Naples."

"You want to play it as a coup?"

"Sort of. France needs an excuse to withdraw from Naples first."

"How would we engineer that?"

"That is the one problem I put towards you. Say a revolt somewhere in France has broken out and withdraw most of your men. I take your half of Naples before Spain has a chance to do so. The King of Spain, for fear of war, probably wouldn't take your half of Naples even if he could before me."

"I must think on what we've discussed longer before I take any action."

"I expected that. I've other matters that need attending to before we speak further about Naples."

"I won't ask what. I am sure you'll surprise me as you always do. I'll speak to you later, Valentino."

"Your Majesty," Cesare let out a sigh when Louis was gone. His entire dreams rested upon the other man's greed and desire for glory; if Louis refused to help he didn't doubt the Papal States would fall back into the hands of tyrants once he died. He waved Michelotto over, "Who was spying earlier?"

"I didn't catch the bastard. I don't doubt a spy of one of those deposed tyrants."

"Never mind them, they heard nothing of importance."

* * *

><p>He wasn't much surprised when the deposed tyrants took their leave, realizing Louis wasn't going to reinstate them. Gonzaga, who Cesare had esteemed since his commanding at the battle of Fornovo against Charles, was detained by Louis. Cesare was eager to meet Francesco for several reasons; Lucrezia spoke well of him in her letters, he was an adept commander, and had the gall to denounce him openly.<p>

Louis was talking to Francesco only a few steps away. He could make out the man's facial features. His strong chin bore a touch of self-centered importance common for nobility. He was the picture of a marquis with the only deformity that marred the portrait of a brave and handsome solider his snub nose and short stature.

"Duke of Valentinois," Louis approached with Francesco, "this is the Marquis of Mantua. I am told you two share a common joy?" Cesare raised an eyebrow as Francesco looked bewildered. "I meant you both have the pleasure of knowing the Duchess of Ferrara. Francesco was only a moment ago praising her modesty and decorum."

"Her beauty too I hope."

"The more you two rave about this lady the more I desire to meet her. Is she really lovelier than Anne?"

"I would not go so far," Francesco stated solemnly, knowing Louis made the remark only to have a compliment paid to his wife. "Anne surpasses all women, my own Isabella included."

"The Marquis does more justice in his praise than I could."

"I do not doubt the Duchess is beautiful too. Come, Valentino, do you not have praise for your Charlotte?"

"Lottie?" He found he had a hard time remembering her face. "She was all sweetness last time I saw her."

"Despite the fact that we have wives," Francesco interjected, "I think Valentino and I prefer the paid courtesan."

Cesare smiled as Francesco laughed. "I was thinking," the King said at last, "that you two should reconcile and what better way than though an alliance which benefits both of you?"

"What alliance?"

"I've no siblings left."

"One of you has a daughter and the other a son and both conveniently young." The idea had a definite appeal as they could arrange a betrothal now, but later draw out of the contract given the age of their children.

"Marry Federico to Valentino's daughter? I didn't even know you had one."

"Louise lives with Charlotte."

"Is she pretty?"

"She is two and I have never seen her, but Charlotte is renowned for her beauty and before my illness I was regarded as the most handsome man in Rome."

"I will need time to consider this great proposal as I am sure you will too. However I am sure something may be arranged to our benefit."

"I concur."

"Cardinal d'Amboise," Louis waved the man over. "He is my prelate and desires to stand well with you." D'Amboise wanted the Papacy after Alexander's passing and Cesare had twelve cardinals at his disposal. Louis smiled knowingly at d'Amboise, his trusted counselor.

"And Cardinal Orsini wishes to remain in accord with Your Majesty." Louis would give the Orsini a grand welcome, which would signify his pleasure at their neutrality in regards to Florence. This action, Cesare skillfully knew, would displease Vitelli and make him riotous. Louis warmly embraced the Cardinal, telling him he was overjoyed at his tact.

He was right. When the news of Orsini's welcome was made public Vitelli pitched a fit and refused to come to Milan to greet Louis. Vitelli feared being in disgrace with the French monarch.

* * *

><p>Back in Imola in September he shut himself up in his apartments, writing several letters, first to Alexander and then to Lucrezia. His first was political and his second was moved by concern for her. He continued from there to write a brief letter to Charlotte and then set about writing others.<p>

Michelotto approached with one of his spies as he was finishing a letter to Ercole d'Este. He set flesh vellum down for his next missive and turned to them.

"This spy has information."

The squat man was under his pay to spy on Vitelli. He must have ridden hard to reach Imola. The poor dirty man looked on the verge of fainting. "Get him a seat first."

Michelotto did as ordered, pulling a stool out of thin air and deposing it before the worn out spy. "Tell me what I already anticipate."

"Vitelli is in Todi."

"I know. Fetch him some water."

"What else?"

"He is with Baglioni."

"Which Baglioni?" Gian Baglioni was a snake ever ready to bite the hand that fed it and wrap its serpentine body around a new host without complaint.

"Gentile and Gian Paolo."

"No surprise there. What are they doing that made you come to Imola to inform me personally?"

"I feared writing it down, Duke. They are declaring they will not attack Bologna and wish for the Orsini to join them in their desire."

"Sounds rather dull," he pressed some coins into the spy's eager hand. "Not what I was expecting, but I am sure this is only the beginning. Vitelli won't wait too much longer to err. Rest for the night and return early tomorrow to Todi before they notice you are gone."

"We are going to let them do as they please?"

"Who said anything like that?"

"What do you mean?"

"You'll see."

* * *

><p>"Is everyone here?" Vitelli demanded from where he lounged in his illness. He suffered from the same disease as the insufferable Borgia. Cardinal Orsini was hosting this meeting at Magione.<p>

Gentile and Gian Paolo were chattering between each other. Cardinal Gianbattista, Francesco, and Paolo, all Orsini, were laughing at some crude joke. Pandolfo Petrucci, the Lord of Siena, and Hermes Bentivogli exchanged compliments about their horses.

Cardinal Orsini pounded the table to get silence. "So what is your plan against Cesare?"

"I say we kill him," Hermes said with an unconcerned air. "He bleeds just the same as all of us. Only give me the opportunity and it will be done."

"I agree," Vitelli stated with absolute solemnity, "that we will do something about Valentino. Hell, I swear before all you ill-tempered bastards, that I'll kill him myself. Failing that I'll capture or kill the Borgia scum."

"We have the superior numbers," Gian Paolo added more rationally. "He has what? Three thousand foot and hardly any men-at-arms and lances."

"Gian Paolo is right. We've got eight or nine thousand foot combined and at least a thousand horse," stated Francesco with an air of readiness. "We can take Borgia now!"

"You'll remember he has the French. They can send troops to support him if we don't act soon."

"We merely attack hard and fast. Sounds easy enough. I pledge my support to any action against him," Hermes slammed his goblet down with glee.

"Here's an idea that might entice you, Bentivogli. March onto Imola, where Cesare's idles while others take Urbino and Pesaro."

"Not a bad idea, Paolo. Knew you Orsini had brains," Vitelli said with a giant grin.

"I suggest we also write to Florence since they might join our cause against Borgia."

"Florence hates the Orsini," Francesco pointed out, "but maybe they hate Borgia more."

"They are also allied to France and if we are to do this we cannot trust upon slimy Florence," Paolo drank from his goblet as the men assembled thought of other allies.

"Venice hates Cesare for taking the Romagna."

"True, Vitelli, but would they act?"

"They are Venetians!" The gathered men laughed at this. There was a point in Vitelli's words.

* * *

><p>The rebels hung back from attacking Cesare head on, sending word to Venice and Florence. Cesare, aware he was weakened without his army, sent officers out to enlist new troops. He did the unexpected action as most had assumed he would try to patch things up with the rebels. He raised over six thousand men, due mostly to his reputation as a commander and his good treatment of the Romagna. He sent to Lombardy for a thousand Gascons and to recruit some Swiss mercenaries. While Cesare waited for the Lombardy troops and French lances the rebels saw their hopes disappearing. They had waited too long to act against him.<p>

Cesare expected the revolt to crumble at any moment. It was Pandolfo Petrucci who wrote to him first expressing his desire not to upset his Excellency. Paolo Orsini, he heard from spies, was preparing to treaty with him too.

Cesare's advantage was thwarted shortly by fools. In the Castle of St. Leo a new wall was being constructed which required a great deal of timber. Brizio, former squire to Guidobaldo and with the help of some peasants, set down on the drawbridge some trees. The drawbridge disabled the peasants attacked the castle, killing every Borgia solider and claiming the place for the deposed Duke. Cesare was furious at this news for now Giudobaldo had a foothold back into his state.

The rebels, still too anxious to strike on their own, waited for Venice's reply. Venice had been fence sitting and since Florence had offered no help to the rebels they hoped the Venetians would intervene and reinstate Giudobaldo. Cesare, never one to wait to take action least it slip away ordered his man Bartolomeo da Capranica, commander of his men in Urbino to fall back to Rimini. To Pesaro he sent Michelotto and Ramiro de Lorqua.


	20. Chapter 20

"Niccolò Machiavelli, Secretary of Florence, is here."

"Send him in," the boy exited and entered moments later with Machiavelli. "Sit," he didn't gesture to the chair beside him nor lift his eyes to gaze upon the Florentine, but heard the scrap of the chair against the floor. "Leave," the boy left without complaint. "You'll forgive me, Machiavelli, if I am preoccupied at the moment."

"I am undeterred."

"How is Florence?"

"As she always is."

He signed the vellum in hast and lifted his eyes to meet the man's. Machiavelli's voice though indifferent had sounded strained and examining the man further lead to the realization he was travel weary.

"You could have waited for my audience. You look dirty and tired."

"I am."

"Is the message you bring that urgent? Has Florence miraculously changed her stance towards me?"

"No. She offers flimsy platitudes as you well know."

"Then why bother to come now when you are as exhausted as this? It does not paint a flattering picture to this Florentine aggressor."

"What do you intend to do to Vitelli and the other traitors?"

"Why should my schemes need to be told to Florence? That is a silly question," he laughed, "if I get killed Vitelli will attack Florence without remorse. At least if with me, though there is threat of an attack eventually, but I'd be as merciful as I have with the rest of the Romagna."

"What do you have planned?"

"Telling you ruins the surprise. You'll love what I'm going to do though."

"You've already figured out how to deal with them?"

"Not in precise detail, but yes. I long ago decided how best to curb Vitelli's vengeance. If I am to take Florence eventually I can't sack the city as I did Capua. Capua was a political mistake, before my enemies trembled in fear but ever since then there fear has bordered too closely on hatred. A ruler should, if he intends to rule a long time, try to gain the people's love, and failing that fear, but never hatred. Hatred is what brings leaders to their knees."

"You speak eloquently."

"The advice I give is grand, not the way I state it. Machiavelli, in that book you've started, will you include what I've said?"

"What book?"

"You think you play me?"

"Never," Niccolò smiled roguishly, knowing exactly what he meant.

"I do not expect to be portrayed very well in your political treatise, but don't paint me too blackly. I've done as much good as evil."

"I'll paint a starkly human character, strengths and weaknesses included."

"That is kind of you, Niccolò."

"What of Urbino?"

"I've not forgotten the way to reconquer it."

"You act tranquil."

"It is no act. I am unfazed. Vitelli and fools could have chosen a better time to betray me. They will find such a fire burning under their feet as would call for more water to quench it than such men as these are disposed of."

Fossombrone and Pergola followed Urbino, but their revolts were short lived as Michelotto, on his way to Pesaro, paused and sacked the towns without remorse. Cesare, delighted at the good news, turned to Machiavelli as they walked the gardens, letter in hand from Michelotto and observed, "The constellations this year seem unfavorable to rebels."

"Why?"

"Fossombrone and Pergola have been crushed by Michelotto."

"Good news then."

"Florence should declare herself in these matters before it is too late."

"I would first have to write the Signory and terms for the treaty would need to be written up long before any answer may be given." He didn't doubt Florence had expressly commanded Niccolò to refuse to declare either way.

"I think Florence should open up the negotiations and from her the first proposal should be made."

"I do not think that wise."

"Once I make amends with the Orsini things will get difficult for Florence given their enmity towards your state."

"I see no reason for concern regarding the Orsini."

"Paolo Orsini has sent me word, desiring to rejoin me as long as I give up on Bologna."

"That is…generous."

"I thought so too."

"He asks for nothing in return?" Cesare's eyes were tranquil as Machiavelli scrutinized him.

"He asks for something, but it is only a minor inconsequential thing."

"Inconsequential to whom?"

"To me since I am the one making the arrangement. To Florence however…"

"France would not let you."

"For now, but did not Louis offer protection to Bologna not too long ago and change his mind after persuasion? I merely wish Florence to stop this waffling."

"I will write to the Signory."

"Do not be annoyed, Machiavelli, you are nimble at this game, but your hand isn't great due to your ally."

* * *

><p>Not only had Paolo Orsini made entreaties to him, but Vitelli announced he was ready to return to his service. Paolo wanted Florence and France forbade attacking her so he was forced into refusing the terms. He had sent word that if they desired to be his friends once more they should reconquer Urbino for him.<p>

October saw Vitelli seize Castle Durante and the next day Baglioni took Cagli. Cesare told the troops he had prepared to attack Urbino to wait. Spies reported that Guidobaldo rode into Urbino with Venice's backing. Vitelli and fools switched sides once more and the Orsini routed the small force he had sent to Urbino.

Vitelli, his spies reported, had given Guidobaldo his artillery to help take Cagli, Pergola, and Fossombrone from him. Oliverotto da Fermo with Gianmaria Varano were planning the retaking of Camerino as Gian Paolo went to Fano. Hermes Bentivogli, spurned by the actions of his comrades, wrote to the King of France against Cesare's conduct and his breaking of the Treaty of Villafontana. Cesare had agreed in that treaty to not attack Bologna; moronic Bentivogli ignored the fact that he had violated the treaty first.

Venice sat idly, issuing no reassures to the rebels and no troops. Louis, in agreement with Cesare's plans to control all of Italia, sent a letter to Venice stating in harsh terms that, "if they opposed themselves to the enterprise of the Church they would be treated by him as enemies." So Venice, ever desiring to not get involved in a quarrel with France, sent no support to the rebels.

Paolo Orsini arrived in Imola dressed as a courtier, much to his amusement and they spoke without hostilities on the terms of returning to his service. Cesare agreed to protect the state of his condottieri, which had made the rebels nervous in the first place, and they would serve him and the Church in return. He made no concession to Bentivogli, but that Cardinal Orsini, himself, and Pandolfo Petrucci would enter into an agreeable at a later time concerning Bologna.

"Today," Cesare said to Machiavelli as they sat playing dice in his apartment. "Paolo Orsini came to visit me and tomorrow the cardinal will come. They think they can fool me, but I am only dallying with them. I listen to all they have to say as I bide my time."

Paolo Orsini rode from Imola, but the ever crafty Cesare sent Agabito Gherardi, his secretary, out after him with another clause. Paolo refused to turn back, but at Gherardi's insisting agreed to press the suit with his allies.

"You look distraught," Gherardi said with a chuckle after he informed him of the extra clause. "If they accept that clause it will open a window; if they refuse it, a door, by which the duke can issue from the treaty."

Vitelli refused because the treaty meant they couldn't attack Florence and his dislike of having to oust Guidobaldo once more. The group was divided as Paolo and Petrucci wanted to side with Cesare.

In November Antonio Galeazzo Bentivogli, sent by his father Giovanni, came to propose a treaty with him. Antonio told him Ercole d'Este had arranged for this negotiation. Cesare sent word to the Orsini, knowing this information would bring about the collapse of the allies since their main objection had been dislike of bearing arms against Bentivogli.

Cesare was pleased with the treaty in the end; in part because the treaty was good for only two years, which provided a more honorable way of breaking the agreement at a later date. The treaty brought Paolo days later with the signed document; even Vitelli had succumbed to the pressure and given up his desires if only for the time being.

Cesare, with his wayward condottieri under his command, planned to take Sinigaglia next. Cesare, as a sign of goodwill towards his renewed allies, sent his French lance away expect for one unit.

Famine hit the camp when they reached Cesena and Cesare ordered the wheat be sold for cheaper than was its worth to feed the people and ordered wheat be procured from outside the city no matter the cost. To keep the troops and townsfolk happy they needed two things; justice and full bellies.

"Cesare?"

"Yes, Michelotto?"

"Ramiro has been stealing grain and selling it for an astonishing price."

"Where did you hear this?"

"From spies I've had with him since you named him governor."

"Why did you set up spies without my consent?"

"Ramiro cannot be trusted as you well know. I thought to look towards security in the Romagna."

"You acted without my permission."

"I beg your forgiveness."

"This is the second time you've gone astray from my orders."

"You consider Pergola and Fossombrone betrayal?"

He smiled and stood, embracing Michelotto without restraint. "You have always served me to the best of your abilities, even defying my orders and sneaking around behind my back to help me. Next time you want to put spies upon someone inform me and I'll see to it. As for Ramiro we will recall him and deal with him accordingly."

Ramiro de Lorqua was recalled to Cesena and Cesare charged him with fraudulently selling wheat and putting the duke to the costly expense of ordering more supplies. Not only had Ramiro's been dealing with the wheat supplies poorly, but the people hated his oppressive rule. Cesare publicized his charges against Ramiro's and sent them throughout the Romagna. The people would see he was dealing out justice and love him for it.

These frauds, corruption, extortion, and rapine practices by the governor were so grave, stated the duke in his manifesto, that "there is no city, country-side, or castle, nor any place in all Romagna, nor officer or minister of the duke's, who does not know of these abuses; and, amongst others, the famine of wheat occasioned by the traffic which he held against our express prohibition, sending out such quantities as would abundantly have sufficed for the people and the army." He concluded by informing the people all succeeding governors would practice justice and integrity.

Rumors about Ramiro's alleged secret support for Vitelli and allies came to light from Bologna. Cesare found little surprise in this; he was only annoyed he had so gravely misjudged Ramiro's. He had never presumed that Ramiro's was without fault, but he had not assumed him to be as cruel as reports now lead him to believe.

"Michelotto?"

"Duke?"

"Now that Ramiro is here and every incident involving him has come to light I say we deliver Lady Justice."

"How?"

"His head upon a pike in the town square will be a nice display of my dislike towards thieves and aggressors of the people. Arrange it."

"With my own hand?"

"If it pleases you to do so."

"I will delight in this death."

"As much as I will."

He marched onto Fano the day after Ramiro's was dealt with and received envoys from Ancona swearing fealty and a messenger from Vitelli with the surrender of Sinigaglia. He sent word to Vitelli he would join him the next day and asked the condottieri to receive him there. The time had finally arrived to see the end to this miserable start at Faenza to its conclusion. The troops, expect for Oliverotto da Fermo's in the borgo, were quartered several miles from the town.

When he arrived on the last day of 1502 he was met by all his condottieri, whom he had not seen since the beginning of the rebellion save Paolo. Francesco Orsini, Duke of Gravina, with Paolo and the latter's Fabio were present as was Oliverotto and Vitellozzo Vitelli. Gian Paolo Baglioni was absent due to illness. Cardinal Orsini and Giulio Orsini were in Rome.

Cesare drew up his ten thousand foot and three thousand horse to the banks of the River Metaruo. He rode as daybreak came with two hundred lances beside Michelotto. Michelotto commanded the horse to halt at the River Misa and then ordered a lane be made. The foot entered the town first, filing in between the splendid display of horsemen in neat row.

Cesare sat unconcerned, donned in full armor at the head of his lances. The three Orsini and Vitelli met him; Vitelli on a mule with a cloak of green lining. The man made a silly figure on the mule, but he was the only one Cesare still sympathized with. Vitelli had remained loyal to his family and Cesare, despite his great mistrust of the man, could understand his reasons for betrayal. The rest deserved what was coming.

He greeted them with brotherly affection as they passed through the gates into the city, praising Vitelli's strength of body to be here with his disease.

He saw Oliverotto in the marketplace and without so much as a change in his facial features gave Michelotto a look. His captain rode ahead to suggest to Oliverotto that his men at arms were unnecessary and that if they were not careful their lodgings would be taken by the duke's men.

"Duke of Fermo," Cesare called, smiling and waving him over to the procession the moment after he gave the order to dismiss his men. Francesco to one side and Vitelli the other they rode in amiable conversation through the borgo to the town and then to the palace.

"I suppose we should separate," Francesco said with good humor.

"This is a joyous reunion; let us not end it preemptively. We must continue on to the palace together."

They entered the palace and Cesare, stopping at the entrance as the condottieri progressed further in, pulled his mask off.

"My dear old friends," he stated solemnly, all trace of friendliness slipping from his voice and features. "I've met you here for a reason and I deem now a good a time as any to inform you. You've waited years and pondered much my aims and I wish to enlighten you."

"Why did you take your mask off?"

"Does my face frighten you, Vitelli?" Cesare smiled, pleased at his uneasiness at the sight of his disfigurement. "Don't worry Vitelli, you won't suffer the same hideous fate."

"What are you implying?"

"I'm uniting the Italia from Naples to Venice. My plans are working perfectly you see. I regret to inform you all that you were mere stepping stones to the unification of the Italia, but gloriously have you served your purpose. I know not being at hand to dethrone the Florentine rulers is depressing for you, but do not linger too long on that. I will take Tuscany soon enough. Louis has promised me both Tuscany and Naples. It is strange telling others my plans, but relieving."

"Don't tell me this is so," Francesco cried, hands grabbing at his hair. "I won't listen."

"Ass!" Vitelli spat, "You promised us safety!"

"I promised nothing. You read too much into it."

"Lair!"

"They will call you a tyrant for this," Paolo stated simply, knowing Cesare cared for his reputation.

"What do you think they will say?" Paolo glared as Francesco wept and Oliverotto dropped to his knees in fear. "Speak up! Anyone? How do you think posterity will remember me? Will they call me a tyrant? Label me as an oppressor? No doubt some will view me in this light. Others will see me as a liberator; a man who saw the small scrabbling states and decided to unify them for their benefit. Was not every founder, from the conqueror of France, Spain, and The Holy Roman Empire, once considered thus? Was not Julius Caesar? I've brought justice and stability to the Romagna which none of my immediate predecessors can claim. That is not oppression!"

"You are Brutus not Caesar!" Vitelli scorned as he crossed his arms and glared. "You are a battle hungry and murderous ass!"

"Battle hungry? You think they will say I loved battle? That I enjoyed sacking Capua? Some might say my folly lay there I am sure, but I answer that charge now. In this licentious and brutal age of ours there is no other way but through war to achieve peace! To use the means at hand is not obsession!"

"You loved aggrandizing yourself!" Oliverotto finally spoke up, shoulders trembling as he realized the end was drawing nearer.

"What of my own ambition? There was no one in history with more! I don't deny this charge. Before you prattle further, Oliverotto, I ask you what was my ambition for? Everyone here can confess my ambition wasn't pure selfishness. I've fought to better every Italian, to build a kingdom where reason and justice prevail and where my Borgia descendants won't have to fear persecution! I have ambition, doesn't every man here?"

Silence followed. He was breathing heavy and his armor was weighting down on him and constricting his chest. He turned away, signaling to Michelotto and the awaiting men to arrest them.

The troops lost their heads when they realized the truth of the matter. Cesare's troops began pillaging the city after they did Cesare's orders of killing Vitelli and Orsini's outside the city and Oliverotto's men within. He rode out in full armor to take care of the rioting when he came upon Machiavelli just now entering the town. He reined in next to Machiavelli, smiling gaily at him and stated with supreme amusement, "This is what I wanted to tell Soderini when he came to Urbino, but I could not entrust him with the secret. Now that my opportunity has come, I have known very well how to make use of it, and I have done a great service to your masters."

He left without waiting for a reply, calling his captains about him and rode into the town to put an end to the blood thirsty soldiers. He rode through the streets, ordering the pillaging cease and when no one took him for sincere he set his sword upon his insolent men.

He ordered Vitelli and Oliverotto dealt with that night. During their trial Oliverotto apparently cast all the blame upon Vitelli. Even more astonishing was that Vitelli, foolish but stout hearted, broke down and begged the Pope for plenary indulgence before he went. He ordered at dawn that they should be strangled and let Michelotto do the deed. The Orsini he left untouched as prisoners, awaiting Alexander's report about their relatives in Rome.

On January first of 1503 he issued word of his deeds at Sinigaglia. He made mention of a new plot against him after he had dismissed his French lances. Since he was weakened he claimed his enemies had decided to betray him once more, this time by taking Sinigaglia, displaying only a third of their true strength to lure him in, and attacking him under false pretense.

After his wonderful deceiving he left Sinigaglia, headed to Vitelli's Citt di Castello, took the place, and marched with hast to Perugia. Guidobaldo, Fabio Orsini, Annibale and Venazio Varano, and Vitelli's nephew were there under the lucky Gian Paolo Baglioni. He was nearing Gualdo when news of Gian Paolo's having fled to Siena to join the equally fortunate Pandolfo Petrucci reached him. He met the ambassadors of Perugia who handed the city over without complaint. He left Agabito Gherardi as his commissioner and sent Vincenzo Calmeta to Fermo to capture Oliverotto's former domain.


	21. Chapter 21

Sorry. lotusblossom, but this isn't an AU. I'm trying for historical accuracy whenever possible, for example Isabella's letter and gift in this chapter are historically accurate. As such I am dreading writing of Viana, those who know history will know what I'm talking about without this spoiling anything for those who don't know. This story is drawing close to the end :( I'm expecting 25 or so chapters in total. Thanks for reading and reviewing thus far. Hopefully by the end we can get as many reviews as chapters :)

* * *

><p>He stopped in Assisi next and lying by the fire beside a courtesan with ruby lips and orange hair received Isabella of Mantua's letter and box.<p>

To His Highness the Duke of Valentino, Illustrious Sir:

The happy progress of which your Excellency has been good enough to inform us in your amiable letter has caused us all the liveliest joy, owing to the friendship and interest which you and my illustrious husband feel for each other. We, therefore, congratulate you in his and our own name for the good fortune which has befallen you, and for your safety, and we thank you for informing us of it and for your offer to keep us advised of future events, which we hope will be no less favorable, for, loving you as we do, we hope to hear from you often regarding your plans so that we may be able to rejoice with you at the success and advancement of your Excellency. Believing that you, after the excitement and fatigue which you have suffered while engaged in your glorious undertakings, will be disposed to give some time to recreation, it seems proper to me to send you by our courier, Giovanni, a hundred masks. We, of course, know how slight is this present in proportion to the greatness of your Excellency, and also in proportion to our desires; still it indicates that if there were anything more worthy and more suitable in this our country, we certainly would send it you. If the masks, however, are not as beautiful as they ought to be, your Highness will know that this is due to the makers in Ferrara, who, as it has been for years against the law to wear masks, long ago ceased making them. May, however, our good intentions and our love make up for their shortcomings. So far as our own affairs are concerned there is nothing new to tell you until your Excellency informs us as to the decision of his Holiness, our Master, concerning the articles of guaranty upon which we, through Brognolo, have agreed. We, therefore, look forward to this, and hope to reach a satisfactory conclusion. We commend ourselves to your service. January 15, 1503.

Smiling he leapt from where he lay and lifted the lid off the box Isabella's courtier had set on the floor. Inside lay, just as Isabella had described, beautiful masks of every kind. He picked up the top ones, admiring the funny shaped eye-holes on one and the ornate gold outline on the other. He set these aside to examine some more, marveling at the elaborate designs. The one he currently held had two arching feathers for eyebrows, which he found hilarious but not practical. He handed this one to the courtesan, "Have this one, it's too feminine for me."

"I will wear it at carnival, your Excellency."

He sat down and wrote, smiling as he glanced occasionally at the mask the courtesan was playing with.

Most Illustrious Lady, Friend, and Honored Sister:

We have received your Excellency's present of the hundred masks, which, owing to their diversity and beauty, are very welcome, and because the time and place of their arrival could not have been more propitious. If we neglected to inform your Excellency of all our plans and of our intended return to Rome, it was because it was only today that we succeeded in taking the city and territory adjacent to Sinigaglia together with the fortress, and punished our enemies for their treachery; freed Città di Castello, Fermo, Cisterna, Montone, and Perugia from their tyrants, and rendered them again subject to his Holiness, our Master; and deposed Pandolfo Petrucci from the tyranny which he had established in Siena, where he had shown himself such a determined enemy of ourselves. The masks are welcome especially because I know that the present is due to the affection which you and your illustrious husband feel for us, which is also shown by the letter which you send with it. Therefore we thank you a thousand times, although the magnitude of your and your husband's deserts exceeds the power of words. We shall use the masks, and they are so beautiful that we shall be saved the trouble of providing ourselves with any other adornment. On returning to Rome we will see that his Holiness, our Master, does whatever is necessary to further our mutual interests. We, in compliance with your Excellency's request, will grant the prisoner his liberty. We will inform your Illustrious Majesty at once, so that you may rejoice in it the moment he is free. We commend ourselves to you.

From the papal camp near Aquapendente, February 1st. Your Excellency's friend and brother, the Duke of Romagna, etc. Cesare.

Cesare signed the letter and handed it to a messenger.

* * *

><p>He retired to Rome for two reasons following his recent conquests. Louis had sent word forbidding any further conquest and the Orsini (Alexander had skillfully poisoned the cardinal after having him taken to Sant'Angelo) and other barons in the vicinity were revolting. Gonzalo had defeated the French, but Louis was confident that Naples could be recaptured and sent La Tremouille there with a great army.<p>

Cesare, as content as his domain, started the work of raising more troops. He issued an edict throughout the Romagna drafting one male from each household. He increased the use of harquebusiers, which he knew to be powerful weapons and wondered why most regarded them with weariness. For every solider he gave a back and front armor piece and steel headpiece and dressed them uniformly in red and yellow smocks with his name inscribed.

"You will go and fight on France's side against the Spanish in Naples?" Alexander clutched the armrest of his chair nervously.

"What else is there to do?"

"Louis' blundered with Naples."

"He cannot retract what he has done. Louis realizes how right my suggestion of unity between France and the Holy See against Spain was. He is no doubt wallowing in frustration and disappointment."

"What happens to Naples if France reclaims her?"

"Louis might yet be persuaded to hand Naples over. Circumstances are even more favorable now. If Louis sends me into Naples to reclaim the state I could take Naples and then we could take Florence and Venice and the other minor states still under French protection."

"You think Louis would allow that?"

"If I help him conquer Spain why not?"

"There is a guarantee in Naples not afforded in Spain."

"True, but Louis would rather see Naples given to me than Spain. He wishes to die considered a glorious ruler and to that aim he might help us finish our undertaking and then we may repay him by helping him seize Spain."

"What will stop him from turning on us after Spain?"

"The Holy Roman Emperor or another ruler wouldn't let France grow too big, besides I doubt Spain will be conquered. In the treaty I sign with Louis I can agree to provide a certain amount of troops, but I'll give no other concession to His Majesty."

"Well played."

"Of course." Ever since Juan's passing he and Alexander had an unease duopoly. Cesare saw to the conquering and Alexander saw to Rome and cardinals.

"Cesare?"

"Yes, Your Holiness?"

"I miss Lucrezia. She has been in Ferrara for quite some time. Do you think we should recall her?"

"As much as the idea pleases me I do not think it wise if we intend to evade rumors and the d'Este's uneasiness."

"I suppose that was an old man's foolishness."

"Nothing of the sort, Father, I yearn to see her too."

"How many men are you taking into Naples?" The change of subject relieved both men.

"I was thinking five hundred horse and two thousand foot."

"A goodly number." Alexander raised his goblet. "To your success!"

"To Borgia success!" They both drank.

* * *

><p>"To His Holiness the Pope!" All the men present drank from their cups. "To the Duke of Valentinois for his triumphs thus far and his future conquests!" Cardinal Corneto waved his goblet in both of their directions before downing his goblet.<p>

Cesare smiled, breathing in the cool summer day air and relaxing for what felt like the first time in years. Thoughts of stealthy murder, shady poisonings, and brilliant military ploys such as his Beautiful Stratagem as it was being hailed didn't cross his weighty mind. He recalled being in a similar mood at his mother's vineyard in Trastevere shortly before Juan's murder. He blocked the memories of that time from further ruining his amiable mood.

* * *

><p>Cesare lay in pain on the fifteenth of August, only days after having visited Corneto at Suburra. The air in Rome was striking people without remorse with fever, he knew, but he had never thought to be stricken so ill himself. He drank the vile concoctions of his doctors, withering in pain night and day without reprise.<p>

Michelotto leaned over him to check his fever, "How is the Pope?"

"He lives, but he is worse than you." He twisted in the sheets in despair. He had thought of everything, but that he should be stricken with illness when Alexander died.

"Will I live, Miguel?" Michelotto, seldom called by his original name, fastened his hand over his.

"You will, Duke, for you are indomitable! I swear God won't take you through illness!"

"Michelotto?" Jofre stood with one of the doctors.

"What, your Excellency?"

"The doctors want to put him through a frigid bath. They think it will cure him."

"Is the bleeding not enough?"

"I think we should try everything available to us."

"Fine." Michelotto held his right arm as Jofre, arms tight about his waist, lowered him into the freezing bath. He struggled as the doctors held him up to his neck in the bath, cursing them in his head as he was too weak to speak. He was trembling when they lifted him from the icy clutches of the pool and set him upon back upon his bed, his skin raw from being shed thanks to the bath. He lay without moving on the bed, wondering what in God's name had processed his doctors to think the wretched bath was a good idea.

* * *

><p>"How is Alexander?" He inquired as Jofre settled onto the bed.<p>

"He lives, but who can say for how much longer. You saw how the fever took Giovanni Borgia earlier this month. The fever is striking fat men down like Alexander said."

"Don't say that Jofre."

"We should prepare for his demise."

"Damn it! Right when everything is favorable and every opportune is ours! Damn him for dying before I consolidated my kingdom!"

"Brother…"

"Get out! Leave me!" He lay in frustrated silence, ignoring Michelotto when he entered.

* * *

><p>"I am coming," he declared, raising his arms into the air. Lucrezia, beautiful braids cascading down her back and powder blue dress clinging to her lithe frame, was holding her elder brother's hand, leaning her golden head against his auburn hair. Cesare cut a fine figure in brown leather and green cotehardie. Jofre, younger than all the rest, trailed behind, hands wrapped around a toy his mother had given him to remember her by. Juan, arrogant as a peacock, lead the little pack, head titled upward as he proclaimed himself the favored son.<p>

"I am coming," he called to them, watching their eager, childish figures ahead of him and amazing at their brilliance and naivety. His children would amount to much, he thought with a father's pride.

"Rodrigo?" He turned with a smile to Vannozza. She had tears in her eyes, but a smile on her lips. Her fair hair was loose in disarray, falling beautifully over the milky skin of her bare shoulders. He squeezed her shoulder and turned back to the children, surprised to find Giulia taking Juan's hand and leading the children away. Giulia had always looked wonderful in violet and with that smile of hers brazenly etched across her face.

"It is just. But wait a little," he cried, worried his children were beyond hearing.

Those were the last words Pope Alexander VI spoke before expiring.

* * *

><p>"He is gone?"<p>

"Yes." His expression was contemplative. "Go to the Pope's chambers, I am sure they haven't announced his death yet as I've heard neither the bells nor rioting. Get the keys from Cardinal Casanova and take the treasury immediately."

"I'll do so." Michelotto left with a small band as Cesare regarded Jofre. His brother was tapping his fingers impatiently, features scrunched up in vexation.

"Our position will be stable once the new Pope is elected. I've twelve cardinals so whoever wins my favor becomes Pope."

"Is that all you think about, Cesare?" Jofre demanded, rising from his seat in a fury never before expressed. "Our father is dead!"

He closed his eyes. "Dwelling on our misfortune now when we need the appearance of strength will only bring our enemies in for the kill. Relax, Jofre…"

"But―."

"There is no but. We need to appear unified and without concern about his passing. We need to treat his death with indifference if we want allies. Our enemies are already now discrediting everything he has achieved and lambasting any who sided with him in the past. We cannot survive this if we play it partial to him, our survival demands we disregard all ties to him and get the gratitude of the cardinal that might become Pope."

"Still," his shoulders slumped.

"Politically I am correct. We must wait to grieve."

"You'll grieve for him?"

"He was my father, Jofre, and though I've never said it to him…I did love him."

"I did too."

"I know."

Michelotto came into the room later that night, explaining that they had threated Cardinal Casanova at dagger point for the keys and once inside had ransacked the Pope's chambers to the amount of two hundred thousand ducats in plate and jewels with two caskets of another one hundred thousand ducats.

* * *

><p>Ercole d'Este, sitting at his writing desk, tapered the ink and reread what he had written to make sure no hint of imprudence was evident. His letter was addressed to Giangiorgio Seregni, the ambassador of Milan, in regards to his inquire about his feelings towards the Pope's demise.<p>

Giangiorgio:

Knowing that many will ask you how we are affected by the Pope's death, this is to inform you that he was in no way displeasing to us. At one time we wished, for the honor of God, our Master, and for the general good of Christendom, that God in his goodness and foresight would provide a worthy shepherd, and that his Church would be relieved of this great scandal. Personally we had nothing to wish for; we were concerned chiefly with the honor of God and the general welfare. We may add, however, that there was never a Pope from whom we received fewer favors than from this one, and this, even after concluding an alliance with him. It was only with the greatest difficulty that we secured from him what he had promised, but beyond this he never did anything for us. For this we hold the Duke of Romagna responsible; for, although he could not do with us as he wished, he treated us as if we were perfect strangers. He was never frank with us; he never confided his plans to us, although we always informed him of ours. Finally as he inclined to Spain, and we remained good Frenchmen, we had little to look for either from the Pope or his Majesty. Therefore his death caused us little grief, as we had nothing but evil to expect from the advancement of the above-named duke. We want you to give this our confidential statement to Chaumont, word for word, as we do not wish to conceal our true feelings from him—but speak cautiously to others about the subject and then return this letter to our worthy councilor Gianluca. Belriguardo, August 24, 1503.

Satisfied with what he'd written he added his seal and sent the letter off. The only problem that remained to vex him was what to do with Lucrezia Borgia. Alfonso was adamant about the girl to the point it stunned Ercole. King Louis had written him, reminding him that he owed no alliance to the Borgias and that at any time he could be rid of her and seek Alfonso a new wife. He didn't say in so many words, but the hint of a French marriage for Alfonso was evident. Ercole, though he bore no fond feelings towards Alexander or Cesare, had come to find Lucrezia altogether pleasing. The matter would have to rest as of the moment.

He picked up the letter concerning the Pope's death Isabella had received from Francesco and given to him so he would know the tale. He hadn't bothered reading it yet.

Illustrious Lady and Dearest Wife:

In order that your Majesty may be familiar with the circumstances attending the Pope's death, we send you the following particulars. When he fell sick, he began to talk in such a way that anyone who did not know what was in his mind would have thought that he was wandering, although he was perfectly conscious of what he said; his words were, "I come; it is right; wait a moment." Those who know the secret say that in the conclave following the death of Innocent he made a compact with the devil, and purchased the papacy from him at the price of his soul. Among the other provisions of the agreement was one which said that he should be allowed to occupy the Holy See twelve years, and this he did with the addition of four days. There are some who affirm that at the moment he gave up his spirit seven devils were seen in his chamber. As soon as he was dead his body began to putrefy and his mouth to foam like a kettle over the fire, which continued as long as it was on earth. The body swelled up so that it lost all human form. It was nearly as broad as it was long. It was carried to the grave with little ceremony; a porter dragged it from the bed by means of a cord fastened to the foot to the place where it was buried, as all refused to touch it. It was given a wretched interment, in comparison with which that of the cripple's dwarf wife in Mantua was ceremonious. Scandalous epigrams are every day published regarding him.

Ercole scowled, pushing the letter away and crossed himself. As practical as he was in political matters, he feared God and the Devil to the very core of his being and any such talk or correspondence always upset him. He prayed the former Pope hadn't really be in league with the Devil.

* * *

><p>Lucrezia smiled, slipping her hand into Pietro Bembo's when no one was looking. "Will you recite some poetry?"<p>

"If it pleases your Excellency," his adoring eyes reminded her of Pedro Calderon's. He was much like that long ago lover whom she had only enjoyed once. She smiled shyly, aware of the warmth and gentleness of his hands. His touch was so different from all the men she had known her whole life. Giovanni had been course, Alfonso's hands had suffered from callouses, and Cesare's had been covered with rashes from the disease (she couldn't remember his hands as a cardinal). Her current husband's hands were always dirty and suffered from cuts sustained while at work on his cannons.

"His Excellency Alfonso d'Este!" The man announced and Lucrezia, ruffled at the sudden appearance of her husband, dropped the poet's hand and rose to greet him.

"Dearest wife," Alfonso wearing black hemmed with gold was a rare sight of refinement.

"Darling," she kissed his cheek fondly.

"I've terrible news. Let us speak in private." The small gathering of poets and ladies-in-waiting left at his insistence. "Rome has brought ill tidings. Sit for I fear you will faint at this disheartening news."

"What happened?" Her widened eyes and pale cheeks brought a lump to his throat.

"Your Father, Pope Alexander, is dead." Her horrified expression tore at stoical Alfonso who looked away.

"What of my family?"

"Your brother Valentinois lies close to death too."

"Dear God…" her voice cracked. Alfonso, uncertain of how to comfort her (he had rarely ever had the chance to console anyone) kissed her cheek and left her to her sorrow.

He found Pietro Bembo hanging nearby the door with his companion Strozzi.

"Leave off my wife or you'll find a nasty end."

"Your Excellency mistakes the simple affection of a poet towards his muse. Has not Tito expressed similar reverence for her?"

"He expressed his affections much differently. Go from my court with hast."

"Is he to be cast out from Ferrara too?" The d'Este's frigid look said the conversation was over and without a backward glance walked off.

"Alfonso is right," Strozzi took his arm, "you should leave Ferrara before he brings harm to you. You don't want to meet the same end as Pedro Calderon."

* * *

><p>Pietro Bembo, blinking in the darkness of his chamber, speculated if he should light some more candles to dispel the growing night. He took the gloom as a representation of his inward woe and decided against it. Lucrezia was mourning in Ferrara and because of Alfonso he was far away in Strozzi's villa.<p>

I called upon your Majesty yesterday partly for the purpose of telling you how great was my grief on account of your loss, and partly to endeavor to console you, and to urge you to compose yourself, for I knew that you were suffering a measureless sorrow. I was able to do neither the one nor the other; for, as soon as I saw you in that dark room, in your black gown, lying weeping, I was so overcome by my feelings that I stood still, unable to speak, not knowing what to say. Instead of giving sympathy, I myself was in need of it, therefore I departed, completely overcome by the sad sight, mumbling and speechless, as you noticed or might have noticed. Perhaps this happened to me because you had need of neither my sympathy nor my condolences; for, knowing my devotion and fidelity, you would also be aware of the pain which I felt on account of your sorrow, and you in your wisdom may find consolation within and not look to others for it. The best way to convey to you an idea of my grief is for me to say that fate could cause me no greater sorrow than by afflicting you. No other shot could so deeply penetrate my soul as one accompanied by your tears. Regarding condolence, I can only say to you, as you yourself must have thought, that time soothes and lessens all our griefs. So high is my opinion of your intelligence and so numerous the proofs of your strength of character that I know that you will find consolation, and will not grieve too long. For, although you have now lost your father, who was so great that Fortune herself could not have given you a greater one, this is not the first blow which you have received from an evil and hostile destiny. You have suffered so much before that your soul must now be inured to misfortune. Present circumstances, moreover, require that you should not give any one cause to think that you grieve less on account of the shock than you do on account of any anxiety as to your future position. It is foolish for me to write this to you, therefore I will close, commending myself to you in all humility. Farewell. In Ostellato. August 22, 1503.


	22. Chapter 22

Cesare listened to the report twice, scowling at his ill luck. Guidobaldo and Elisabetta had departed from Venice to retake Urbino and Giovanni Sforza had returned from Mantua to Pesaro. His illness had given his enemies the courage they had formerly lacked. He threw the vellum away. September was proving a bad month.

The Baglioni had retaken Magione, Giacopo d'Appiano his Piombino, and Gian Paolo Baglioni was taking Camerino to restore the state to the Varano family. Even the damnable Vitelli had taken back Citt de Castello and the terrible Orsini clamored at his gate calling for his Catalan blood. Bartolomeo d'Alviano rode into the Romagna and riding from Ravenna with Pandolfaccio Malatesta retook a much resisting Rimini. Rimini's citizens hated their old tyrant and d'Alviano had a hard time taking the place. Next d'Alviano, supported by the Venetians, tried to take Cesena, but Dionigi di Naldo holding the city for him, resisted with his troops.

"Summon Remolino, make sure he brings at least a hundred horse and over a thousand foot. Have him go to Orvieto."

"I'll see to it, anything else?"

"There is nothing at the moment. Wait, Michelotto." His assassin paused at the door. "Send Agabito Gherardi in. He wished to speak to me."

"Duke," Agabito's forlorn look was disarming.

"Do I seem so weak now? I am. The bath treatment brings great pain, but it's kept me alive. What did you wish to discuss?"

"You are in excellent health. I thought you on the verge of death, but you are as strong as ever."

"Mentally I am, but I cannot lift my own hand or move from this bed without great pain."

"The Colonna are aware of your position. You've lost most of the Romagna and the Orsini are ready to tear you limp from limp."

"Must you be so graphic?" His amused smile barely veiled his wince of pain as he moved his head a little.

"Forgive me, but I only seek to be blunt about the situation. We must make precautions."

"You want me to side with the Colonna?"

"Essentially."

"His Majesty Louis would not allow that. The Colonna are aligned with Spain."

"If you informed him the alliance was only against the Orsini, which both our Houses despise, he would have nothing to be angry over."

"That is wise and to my benefit. Tell the Colonna I agree."

"That is prudent of you."

"When am I ever anything but prudent?"

* * *

><p>Cesare was lifted into the litter and lay gasping as he tried to get comfortable. Conclave was starting and since men-at-arms weren't allowed in the Eternal City during this the Sacred College had asked him to vacate. He knew the reason for the withdrawn of forces from Rome during this precarious time had more to do with fears of outside pressure upon the voting cardinals than anything. He couldn't disobey and since he wasn't foolish enough to dismiss his men and stay alone in Rome he went to Nepi.<p>

Jofre had ridden ahead and greeted him when he finally arrived. He was carried to a chair as Jofre fawned over him.

"You are like a doting old hen, Jofre." The voice started him into absolute silence. Sancia looked worse for wear; her hair lacked its fantastical shine of the past and her blue eyes held contempt as frigid as the pool he had bathed in to survive.

"Sancia," he tried to wave her over, but his ever faltering strength waned and he sat limply staring at her.

"They said you were immobilized, Borgia, but I didn't believe it. You sure look a sight." She knelt so they were level.

"It is good to see you, sister-in-law."

"I'm surprised you haven't asked who freed me from Sant'Angelo." Alexander, embarrassed by Sancia's degrading comments, her lewd lifestyle, and her political useless, had ordered her to be taken to Sant'Angelo shortly after Alfonso's passing in 1500.

He hadn't seen her since and assumed the only reason she was free was because Alexander lay dead.

"Prospero Colonna helped me gain my freedom. A very considerate man if I do say so myself."

"In the bedchamber maybe," Jofre jested, looking none too vexed at Sancia's inappropriateness with a Colonna. Jofre had long ago given up resenting her indiscretions.

"You are foul minded."

"Did you expect anything else from Jofre?"

"You did nothing to stop my imprisonment," her look was scornfully directed at him.

"What should I have done? You were warned many times to refrain from debasing the Pope and you refused to heed. Your actions alone are what got you locked up."

"I should kill you for Alfonso!"

"Do it then if it would relieve your pain. I am vulnerable." Sancia reached for Jofre's dagger, yanking it from his sheath. Cesare's look stopped Jofre from fighting her for the dagger. She was trembling as she pressed it to his neck.

"Don't do this!"

"Shut up, you spineless boy!" She glared briefly at Jofre before turning her eyes to him. "Don't try to sweet talk me out of this. You deserve this!"

"I will not dispute with you. I had every intention of murdering Alfonso for his attacks against me. If Alexander had known about your poisoning attempt he'd have done more than lock you in Sant'Angelo."

"What are you getting at?"

"Did you never wonder why I kept quiet about your involvement?"

"I don't understand."

"Sancia, I never wanted you to suffer. You were like…a sister to me. Fortune was unkind to you and now it is ravaging me. Look at me. I am doomed, whether you slit my throat or not. Everything I've accomplished in the name of my family is reverting back to before I was freed from my cardinalate. A crueler fate could not be devised; death would even be a release."

"I am glad you suffer. You absolutely deserve it. Killing you would only end your pain." She handed the dagger to Jofre. "I want you to be in the pain my brother suffered and the terrible mistreatment I endured in Sant'Angelo."

"I make an appeal to you, not for myself because I know you despise me, but for Rodrigo and Giovanni. Take them with you for they will be safe wherever you are going. I cannot account for their security with me and Lucrezia would never forgive me should anything happen to them."

"You'd hand the children over to me when I professed my hatred of you a moment ago? You would trust me with them?"

"You won't take the son of your beloved deceased brother?"

"Of course I will."

"And Giovanni?"

"I couldn't separate them."

"Lucrezia has informed me she wishes for them, but due to Ercole's resistance she can't bring them there. Would you oblige her and send them to Ferrara when she manages to convince the d'Este?"

"I could not refuse for they are her children. Cesare, is Giovanni yours?"

"He is Pedro's."

"I see."

"I wish you luck." This was his way of apologizing for her pain as he hadn't been able to stop her being taken to Sant'Angelo and still felt a tingle of regret for that. He wished he could tell her the truth of Alfonso's death but knew shifting the blame to Lucrezia would cause unnecessary pain for both women. Besides if Sancia took the children and knew Lucrezia had poisoned Alfonso she might not hand the children over at a later date. Better her memories of him, which likely weren't that glamorous to begin with, be tainted by hatred. Lucrezia didn't deserve animosity the way he did and he had intended to kill him regardless.

Her blue eyes held his, unflinching in her porcelain face, her dark hair coiled around her head in waves as she stood.

"Goodbye Borgia."

"Goodbye sister-in-law." He noted her choked up expression, no doubt recalling some forgotten memory of happier times, before she turned and left his life for good.

* * *

><p>Cesare sighed with relief when the news of the new Pope reached him. The papal conclave candidates Giuliano della Rovere, Ascanio Sforza, and French backed d'Amboise had cancelled each other out, until frustration had lead the Sacred College to vote for the most unlikely candidate to end the dispute. Francesco Piccolomini, Cardinal of Siena and nephew to Pius II, emulated his predecessor by taking the name of Pope Pius III. Pius was sickly and his reign wasn't likely to last long, but he would stall any aggressive Pope from taking the Throne of St. Peter's.<p>

His health on a steady but slow rise was back enough that he could walk. He walked right into the Vatican days later, wearing his flashiness outfit and smiling at if he'd never been struck with disease. His actions would signify to his enemies and friends alike that he was ready and able to take back all that had been lost. He knelt before Pius and pledged himself to the Church as he confirmed him into his office of Captain General and Gonfalonier of the Church.

His troops may not have been behind him, but he wasn't fretting. Most of his vast army was in the employment of Louis and were taking part in the recapture of Naples and thus too preoccupied to be able to assist him. Reports from Remolino informed him of his men's gradual desertions and only Michelotto and a few other trusted captains held his remaining army, but he still had Papal and French favor and having those meant he was saved.

The Orsini, realizing the new Pope favored him, decided to reconcile with him to save themselves. His enemies in the Romagna had attacked Cesena again in hopes of getting revenge for the earlier rout and had suffered immense loses by his captain Pedro Ramires. This resulted in his enemies taking shelter in the fortress of Montebello. Ramires wrote that even now he was laying siege to them. His heath was slowly regaining, but his limps were still weak and though he tried he couldn't bend a horseshoe as he had once done. In the meantime he summoned Michelotto back from Rocca Soriana with his foot. He also sent for his captains Taddeo della Volpe and Baldassare Scipione who were in Naples with men-at-arms at their disposal.

His mood, less concerned given the state of things, stayed thus for twenty six days. On the twenty-sixth day of his reign, Pius III, having been contained to bed rest due to his ulcer, died. His entire plans now lay dissolute again as every major state and cardinal in Christendom waited the interim between his burial and the conclave's decision.

His great enemies Bartolomeo d'Alviano and Gian Paolo Baglioni were in talks with the Venetian ambassador his spies informed him. The Orsini became traitorous once more when they realized the new Pope might prove hostile to him.

He kept his head cool, holing up in Sant'Angelo and waiting for news. Rimini and Forli resisted their would-be conquerors for a time but eventually surrendered and Imola only nearly escaped invasion by the Bentivogli.

He wasn't surprised to find Giuliano della Rovere seeking to speak to him. He sat across from the man, aware of the only reason that would compel della Rovere to sit across from him. What reason was there expect that he desired to be made Pope and that, out of fear of losing once more the position he coveted, he came now to beg for his votes.

"Duke of Valentinois," della Rovere smiled.

"Your Eminence was expected. You desire my votes, which I promised you a long time ago."

"You get to the point of things very quickly."

"It is a habit I gather I inherited from my illustrious father." Della Rovere's look was unreadable as Cesare's bordered on melancholy. He was trying his best to not appear upset about Alexander's passing and hoped della Rovere took his words for the meaning he implied.

"Yes, God must have thought his pontificate over and the time right to recall him to the Kingdom of Heaven."

"I do not think my father lies in a tomb, but I am sure he feels no discord."

"I am sure you are right, Valentino. I think we should direct our discussion towards the conclave which is nearly upon us."

"Yes. I have twelve votes, which could win you the Chair of St. Peter's or else block you from ever attaining that height. The choice rests with your decision regarding my state."

"I am aware you were left a formidable troupe of cardinals, Duke, no need to hammer the point any further."

"I am still Duke of Valentinois, but I am finding my other titles tested and taken by ungracious rabble."

"Rabble which I could help rid you of."

"My titles as Captain General and Gonfalonier of the Church would be appreciated."

"I would endeavor not to upset the last Pope by refusing that request."

"Then I believe we are in accord."

"I concur. Pray for me in conclave."

"I know God will grant you his vote." He let out a sigh when della Rovere was finally gone, relaxing his tensed shoulders by moving them back and forth. "Good God he puts me on edge."

"Can we really trust him, Cesare, after everything he's done?"

"Oh, Jofre, we needn't worry. Giuliano has a reputation for being trustworthy and more than that he has no sons. He said once he'd like to look upon me as his own and now I'm giving him that chance. He would be foolish not to take it. I'd give him a great commander who can quell the Romagna in weeks if he lets me and he'd gain a realm greater than that of any Pope but Alexander."

"He must be rolling over in his grave," Jofre crossed himself.

"None of that. He'd be smiling at my political genius. He always praised my talent there," he frowned, glaring at the floor in vexation at the troubling memories.

* * *

><p>Giuliano della Rovere was elevated to Christ's Vicar and took the name Pope Julius II. He took this name they said after his admiration of Julius Caesar. He was exhilarated at this news. Victory over his enemies in the Romagna, the return of his titles, and the revival of his dreams urged him on.<p>

On the third day of his reign Julius issued word to the Romagna, demanding its obedience to Cesare. Venice, coveting Rimini, turned on the Malatesta who they had just reinstated and added the state to the Republic. Florence, hated enemy of Venice, sent Machiavelli to discern the Pope's position on the matter. Cesare, receiving word that Imola had been attacked by the Venetians, thought to test his alliance with Julius. He asked for safe conduct to the Romagna to secure Imola. Julius gave his conduct with the friendliness Cesare was gradually growing ever wearier of.

He made plans to depart and was ready to leave on the thirteen of November. The only thing that remained was the granting of his safe conduct, which hadn't arrived. Incensed and troubled by this he sent to Julius asking for some galleons at Ostia, by which he intended to take the Romagna with his men from Ferrara.

He was sitting in Ostia when word reached him that not only had Julius denounced him in briefs to the Romagna, but that he had assigned another to the vicarship of the Romagna. Cesare, realizing his mistake in trusting a former enemy turned ally, immediately threw into a rage.

The Pope sent word informing him of the Venetian capture of Faenza and urging him to surrender his remaining fiefs to the Papacy. He laughed in the face of the messenger, shoveling him to the ground and declaring that only death would make him surrender to that traitorous snake. He was expecting what happened next. The captain of the navy, under order of Julius, detained him in Ostia. He strewed in anger a whole night before he took the only option left open to him. He sent Remolino to Rome to beg for mercy, promising Julius the strongholds if he gave him security upon his surrender.

Cesare laughed when the news of how his citizens had taken Julius' betrayal reached Cesena. His people, hearing the news, had run around the city clamoring for him. Worse news came when he found out that Michelotto and Volpe had been captured after their seven hundred horse had been slaughtered by Baglioni. He accounted himself the most unlucky man since Caesar had been killed by Brutus. He was amused when word that Pedro Ramires had hanged the Pope's man with the news of Cesena's switch occurred.

He adored the Romagna's unwavering loyalty and that fealty gave him some small inkling of hope as he lay in the Borgia Tower. Julius, having more or less made him a prisoner of state, had confined him to Alfonso's room. He found the irony amusing rather than distressing. The only thing that crossed his mind while he lay at night in this rooms was not his ghost, but Lucrezia's marbled face. With time on his hands he wondered if she'd cried for Alexander and if she'd been in a panic at his imprisonment. He often pulled out her vellum portrait of charcoal drawn by Leonardo's hand and gazed upon the perfection of her face, wondering if he'd ever embrace her again.

News arrived that Gonzalo de Cordoba had emerged victorious at Garigliano, thus turning the tide in Naples for Spain. Spain, now controlling a good portion of land and in great standing, demanded he be handed over. He left the Vatican, escorted by Cardinal Carvajal to Ostia to wait word for their departure. Cesare was reminded of the beginning of his life, when he had suffered being a hostage to Charles. At least Julius wasn't as ugly as Charles.

He was surprised when the Spanish cardinal came to him and told him he was free to depart, under the promise of not acting against Julius. He stared for a long moment at the squinted eyed Spaniard, trying to discern the truth behind those eyes, but found he could detect nothing. He lowered his head, "I am in the hands of my enemies now, and my lover fortune, ever the screw to me now in her malice, forces my hand. I'll go, but with great misgiving."

"You've no reason for distrust."

"Don't I?" He smiled wanly, nodding his thanks and the cardinal withdrew. He rode, his liberty a certainty at the moment, for Naples. He harbored no intentions as he traveled, knowing the winds had been fickle since Alexander's demise to him.

When he arrived at camp he was stunned at the reception awaiting him. Gonzalo de Cordoba greeted him warmly, informing him that Cardinal Lodovico Borgia and Jofre were in Naples and longing to welcome his return. Gonzalo even went so far as to inform him that Spain was considering invading Tuscany with the aim of taking Milan and getting the French entirely out.

* * *

><p>Michelotto cursed as he was tied up. "I told you, Miguel, if you spoke during my showing of the last fool upon the rack I'd spare you. You can save yourself yet."<p>

"Don't call me by that name, Judas!"

"You are in delirium if you mistake me for him."

"But traitor you are to Valentino! You are Brutus, Cassius, Judas!"

"Enough." He waved the torturer to begin. He took the handle and increased the tension. He signaled to him to stop. "Tell me all I want to know about Valentino and I'll let you go!"

"Piss off!" Michelotto was sweating and clenching his teeth from the pain.

"Again!"

"Cunt's tits!" The loud popping sound of cartilage, ligament, and bone meet their ears and Julius ordered him to stop once more.

"Tell me what I want to know!"

"Suck my cock first!"

"Why won't you speak?" Julius furiously kicked the torturer who began again. "Enough. We'll try something else. Bring that torch here." Julius waved the man over, "apply it to his flesh. We'll see if this convinces the bastard to talk."

The torches flame was apply to his side. Michelotto withered in pain as the flame burned his skin, filling their nostrils with the offensive odor. "Stop. That smells horrendous. Take a nail off instead." Julius rarely visited the dungeon himself, but torturing Michelotto brought him a pleasure he'd not known previously. He was imaging Cesare and Alexander rather than the mere assassin. He was getting his revenge against the foul Borgias.

"What else can we do to him?"

"There is the Spanish boot."

"I know that one and breaking his leg isn't what I want."

"The Pope's Pear?"

"I do love the name. What is this one?"

"They stick it into the anus and the pear opens like a flower. Quite painful."

"Aren't all torture devices? Anything else?"

"The Brazen Bull would be suitable for a Borgia assassin."

"Brazen Bull is what exactly?"

"A metal bull in which the victim is placed inside and a fire set underneath."

"Interesting but something that won't kill him is what I want."

"The Cradle of Judas?"

"That one is perfect. It will serve him right for calling the Vicar of Christ Judas. See to it while I leave. I'll come by tomorrow. Remember I want him alive. You kill him you'll get the Cradle yourself."

* * *

><p>"I was thinking," Gonzalo said with a smile a mile wide and wine still on his lips.<p>

"Thinking what odorous thought now, friend," he asked with a smile as he kissed the harlot closest to him. This newfound freedom restored him to a buoyance he'd rarely hoped to feel again. The women were as lewd as he recalled and with the Gallic disease's sudden disappearance after his ailment in Rome, he was feeling young in body and mind. He thought often of Lucrezia when he lay with a courtesan now, wondering what her reaction to his new handsomeness would be. Would she smother him in kisses and profess her adulation? The thought of seeing her once more, restored to the time before his illness and his ruin, was enticing.

He'd written to her telling of his unstable position over the last couple months and she had written back telling of her commitment to his enterprises and her hope to one day see him reinstated in the domains he had lost. Her condolences brought him some small comfort.

"Nothing too disarming I hope. D'Alviano has caused you much grief I'm told."

"Oh yes."

"Florence too."

"By far the most annoying state I've dealt with. They spew promising words of assistance and turn their backs when you need them. If they had only moved to help me in the Romagna, a hundred horse at best, I could have kept my cities from falling into Venice's greedy embrace."

"I agree with you, Florence is a slimy bitch." He set his goblet down. "And D'Alviano isn't as great a captain as we'd hoped. You however have quite a reputation for commanding victory which Spain is well aware of."

"What are you implying?"

"You desire revenge against Florence, we desire Milan, and d'Alviano covets the position of commander of the army we send to Tuscany. So tell me, Duke, should I spite d'Alviano and make you that commander instead?"

"You're sincere?" Gonzalo smiled and nodded, picking his goblet up. "I would like to be of assistance and have no fear I am a Spaniard before a Frenchmen. After all does not my House come from Valencia?"

"True," he smiled smugly. He lifted his goblet and Cesare did likewise. "To your success, commander!"

"To Spanish success!" He declared, taking a hearty gulp and watching Gonzalo as he did. The man's mouth twitched as he prepared to drink and he downed the goblet, rubbing his chin with his sleeve. There was something odd about Gonzalo's manners this evening; he was drinking more than usual and taking his time during each sentence he produced as if he was uncertain. He sensed betrayal in the air of 1504.

May came and Cesare, certain that Gonzalo's words were truth given the delay, went to dine with him that night. He drank readily and let one of the courtesan sit on his lap. "Is she not pretty, Gonzalo?"

"I agree, Valentino."

"Not as beautiful as Lucrezia and I bet you ten ducats she's a fickle jaded bitch. Is that so, lady? I called her a lady!" She slapped him, but snuggled into his arms.

"I see no ladies tonight!" Gonzalo concluded with a laugh. "Tonight is dark, my friend, I heard no stars blazed in the sky."

"Bad omen," he said with a chuckle. "Do you heed omens?"

"I'm a God fearing man," he crossed himself.

"God's omens often turn out for the best in the end," he gave her butt a squeeze. "Look at me for example. All my wealth gone and my troops rotting in graves across the whole Italia and yet I live and will soon pay back those who betrayed me."

"I am sure you will," Gonzalo's vexed expression didn't pass his notice. Cesare never drank too much in front of important people; in relaxed atmosphere friends and enemies alike often dropped plans once saddled with too much wine.

"I know I will, Gonzalo. I'm Cesare Borgia! I take no man's insults and definitely not the whip of the petty Julius. He'll find an enemy when he could have made me a friend. He'll regret that someday."

"I don't think he will."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

"What's this strangeness, Gonzalo? Granted he's Pope, but did not he think to depose Alexander once and nearly succeeded had Charles been inclined? I say anything is possible when you're a Borgia!"

"Right," Gonzalo wouldn't meet his eyes.

He pushed the courtesan off, rising from where he sat. Gonzalo's mood was threatening his joy.

"I think I'll take my leave."

"So soon," the sudden frantic look he bestowed on him brought uncertainty.

"Why not? I need some rest."

"Stay. Ioanna will entertain you." She was Gonzalo's favorite whore, which under different circumstances Gonzalo wouldn't have offered.

"I see, Gonzalo." He pulled his sheathed sword off and held it up.

"What are you doing," Gonzalo demanded.

"You plan to arrest me."

"How did you know?"

"You would never offer Ioanna if something wasn't afoot. I knew when I came something was off. Come then and take my sword, cowards, I'll not fight you. I saw this farce from the first. Tell Cardinal Carvajal I hope God will be more forgiving than I. As for you," he turned to face Gonzalo. "I hope you weren't serious when you said you feared God for if I escape you will be the first to kneel before my blade and meet him!" A captain took his sword and he was dragged out, yelling epithets at Gonzalo on his way out along the lines of "cowardly pig" and "whore's bastard."

Gonzalo shook his head, telling Ioanna, "I had to. His Most Catholic Majesty Ferdinand commanded me, what else could I have done? I didn't betray him…"

* * *

><p>"The only important thing is that Cesare lives," she said to Francesco as he slung his arm around her shoulder and she set her brother's letter aside.<p>

"Have you given up your despair?"

"Yes."

"Good," he kissed her check, flopping onto his back on the bed. "God Isabella is a mean little shrew." Francesco often complained to her of Isabella and Lucrezia gave him the sympathetic ear he pined for. As for Lucrezia the Marquis often listened to her pleas for her brother, who he entertained no fond feelings towards.

"Lucrezia?" Her lady-in-waiting Catalina hurried in. "A guest is here for you. Please, Marquis, dress and take your leave."

"Who the hell dares to oust me from the bed of my..." Francesco scowled, hesitating on the word.

"Francesco, do as she instructs. Remember we must be careful. Affairs for men are easy, but women get murdered for them by their husbands if you recall."

"Lucrezia," he grabbed her shoulder, applying soft kisses. "Alfonso adores you too much to kill you."

"I know, but his hand could be forced. Do as I say. You do not want this to get back to Isabella." His unreadable expression at the mention of his wife catching them did not pass her notice.

"I'll contrive another meeting," he rose from the bed, picking his braies off the floor. Their trysts were rare given that the Marquis was often involved in military exploits in other parts of the continent and the secrecy required of their coupling.

"Not this month."

"Lucrezia!" His hands flew up as his mouth hung open. "I will not wait another month! I adore you too much to be that long away from you!"

"You adore me no better than your paid courtesans."

"You are harsh," he snapped, dressing in more hast now when he saw Catalina's growing anxiety. "It isn't Alfonso, is it?"

"No."

"Who?"

"Do not ask, your Excellency."

"You are being very distressing," she said with a small smile as she slipped her chemise over her head and Catalina helped her into a navy dress. Catalina began combing her hair as she fussed with her sleeves. "Francesco, are you nearly done?"

"Almost. Easier when you have help. I can't remember the last time I dressed myself."

"The whores help you dress too?"

"I take back the shrew comment about Isabella. She is a queen of kindness in comparison to you." He held his turnshoes in his hand and his hair was still ruffled as slammed the door on his way out.

"He always gets like that," she informed Catalina. "I wish he wouldn't. He can be so immature." His immaturity reminded her of Juan at times. Catalina picked up a ruby necklace with pearls. "Not that one, Catalina. Rodrigo gave me that one." Her solemn look all of a sudden alarmed Catalina.

"Perhaps this one might please your guest?"

"Who is visiting me?"

"Giulia Farnese." That name was from another time. A time when her life had been dazzlingly carefree, opulently materialistic, and unceasingly happy, even the pain had felt less acute. A time when the men she loved best had all been within arm's reach, now two were dead and the other two lived far beyond her grasp.

She waited anxiously, staring at her grave face in the mirror. Her hair was netted in sapphires, the rouge on her checks a faint contract against the paleness of the rest of her, and damask gown draped lavishly over her shoulders. She supposed this passage of time hadn't really changed anything. Her life was still surrounded by the excess of bright jewels and dresses, poets still praised her to the heavens in honeyed words, and her frivolous nature of her younger years had never worn off completely given her position in life.

She wondered at the difference a few people in her world could make on the state of her happiness as tears filled her eyes.

"Lucrezia?"

"Giulia?" She didn't turn to look at her friend, but she wished to God Giulia hadn't changed much. She buried her face into her hands, too afraid to meet the other woman's gaze. Was the slim and rivetingly beautiful dark-haired beauty that had been known as La Bella gone? Was the friend she had shared all her ardent passions, vices, and triumphs with no more?

"Lucrezia?" She felt smooth hands take hold of hers and push them forcefully away. "Let me cry with you, dear little Lucrezia." Giulia was the only one who ever called her that. She met her eyes, the same self-confident and amused eyes, and fell into her arms like a child.

"We have both suffered much," Giulia said solemnly when her tears had finally subdued. She felt cranky now as a headache threatened. She dabbed her puffy eyes and reddened nose with the handkerchief Giulia had always kept on hand even in Rome.

"Yes."

"I still think on him sometimes." She glanced at her hands, wrapped in white satin gloves. "He use to adore my smile. He always said I had the most radiant smile he'd ever seen."

"You do."

"Thanks. I wasn't as good to him as he was to me. He made my brother a cardinal and gave me everything I asked without resistance."

"He was doting on everyone," she reached for Giulia's hand.

"After Alexander's interest in me cooled I went to Bassanello. Adriana joined me there and Orsino. You know I wasn't unfaithful to Alexander to hurt him, I wanted another child and Alexander…I feared, silly girl that I was, that he couldn't father children anymore. Look at how long we had tried for Laura and when I finally became with child it was by Orsino."

"What made you come all this way to Ferrara?"

"You remember my sister Girolama don't you?" She recalled a hazy image of a woman not as beautiful as Giulia but as dark haired and lively.

"Sort of. I only met her once or twice."

"She married a second time. She adored the Count so much she would do anything for him. He had a son with a different wife named Giambattista… My sister, foolishly in love and wanting her own children with him that would inherit his title tried to poison Giambattista. He found out and murdered her. It was as I was standing at her funeral that it occurred to me."

"What occurred to you?" Giulia's sudden silence unnerved her. She squeezed her hand tightly.

"That I'd prefer to be the one in casket." Lucrezia smile was strained as she pulled Giulia into her arms. "I miss my former life. I miss having a man who cares about me; sure Alexander was old but he's not unfeeling like Orsino. I hate Bassanello."

"You are not alone." This time, and what felt like the first time in her life, Lucrezia consoled Giulia.

"I've heard little in regards to the rest of the Borgia," she admitted with a smile. "How is Cesare?"

"He lives, but his position is…unstable to say the least. Jofre is in Squillace and delights in ruling there; he says he's never felt more needed. Sancia went to Naples and has little Rodrigo with her. She writes me and expresses contentment with her lot. I confess I am surprised for Sancia and happily settled do not mix."

"I bet she is just happy to have some Neapolitans in her bed."

"Likely."

"How are Rodrigo and Giovanni?"

"They are staying with Sancia. The d'Este don't want them here."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"It is terrible."

"I heard Cesare was somewhere in Spain."

"He's being held as a prisoner in Medina del Campo."

"I will pray for his freedom."

"And I will pray you find happiness." The two women smiled at each other in awareness of how much they had lost in the intervening years of absence from each other.


	23. Chapter 23

"Giulio said I have the prettiest hair he's ever seen."

Lucrezia smiled at Angela, walking a sedate pace around the garden. Catalina and several other ladies followed behind, chattering like gay birds. Ippolito came walking down the path. She grabbed Angela's elbow, she met her cousin's eyes, and directed her gaze to Ippolito's steady approach.

"Duchess," Ippolito greeted her without warmth only because Angela was there. Ercole had passed on in 1505, leaving the dukedom to Alfonso as he was the eldest. She had grown use to former Duke's stringy attitude and had spent hours in the art gallery with him or at monasteries. She'd been surprised when she'd first heard he had a great fondness for art and later when she found his love of art was genuine and not the byproduct of being a noble expected to tolerate artists.

"Your Eminence has been missing during the feasts lately." She knew there were bad feelings between Ippolito and Angela, at least on his part. Whenever Angela made mention of the cardinal nowadays she spoken absently as if she rarely thought on him at all or occasionally with disdain at something he'd done. Ippolito's interest in Angela hadn't dwindled during his time in Sancia's arms; in fact upon his return from Rome he'd expressed himself more arduously than ever.

"I've been busy seeing to my duties," both women knew this to be a lie, but neither was willing to point that out.

"I hope your duties lighten and you may return and enliven us once more."

"I should very much like to see that too," he was looking at Angela now. "Would the Lady Angela be willing to spare a moment for a man of the Church?"

"I suppose if the Duchess can spare me," Lucrezia ignored her cousin's pleading look, figuring Ippolito and Angela needed to mend things and his manners were cordial today so they might find some resolution.

"I will meet you ahead," she said with a warm smile to Ippolito, who returned her smile with a hopeful grin.

Lucrezia watched the two converse as she went to stand by Catalina. Angela's stiff shoulders were visible and Ippolito's awkwardness was clear from the mortification on his face as he spoke. She smiled with pleasure at the two, wondering how Angela was taking his professions if he was speaking them. What else would make the stoic cardinal so flustered?

It took only a moment but the sudden dynamics of the situation changed so rapidly that had she blinked she would have missed it. Whatever Ippolito had just said had upset Angela because her hand went to her breast and her mouth opened in surprise.

Regaining her sense quickly she hurled an insult everyone in the garden could hear, "Your brother's eyes are worth more than the whole of your person!"

Angela ran pass them without acknowledging them, her skirts bunched in her hands and her turnshoes clicking against the path as she hurried away. Ippolito had in the instance of her departure tried to stop her and by doing so was now faced away from everyone. Lucrezia felt a tug of sympathy for his plight, his devastation at Angela's words reminding her of Cesare's whenever she had praised her second husband. Knowing the best remedy after such humiliation and hurt was to be left alone she bid Catalina to follow her out of the garden.

* * *

><p>She was stunned when, walking with Alfonso on the grounds days later, a messenger came running up to them. He had disregarded his cotehardie and his white chemise and hands were smeared with blood.<p>

"Giulio has been accosted, Duke, by some men. They've beaten him sourly and…and…"

"Where is he now?"

"Safe in the care of a friend."

"Excuse me, wife, but he needs me. Take me to him and are there any doctors with him yet? Were you tending to Giulio?" She watched them walk off, surprised at the sudden attack and fearful for his life. She was reminded of Alfonso's attack on St. Peter's steps and shuddered. Surely he was not that badly wounded.

Knowing who the culprit was she searched for him, expecting to find him in his apartments only to be told he wasn't there. Frustrated she labored for several minutes on the places he would be at given the situation and decided to try the gardens. Sure enough Ippolito was sitting on a bench not far from where Angela had embarrassed and rejected him.

"Duchess," he said simply when he noticed her approach.

"Cardinal."

"Have you told Alfonso you suspect me yet?"

"I figured I would leave the blaming to Giulio and others."

"My men said they stabbed him in both eyes." Ippolito's cruel gaze unsettled her. "I'd never thought Giulio and I would come to this. We always had disagreements. Remember how I took that poet when Ercole passed and he went and stole the man from me?"

"I recall the event."

"Does this bring back memories, Duchess?"

"Memories of what?"

"Your own brothers?"

"Cesare and Juan had a rivalry, but he didn't murder Juan. He was upset I think when he realized he had no one to set himself against."

"You really believe he didn't kill the Duke of Gandia?"

"I'll remind you I was in Rome and you were not. I know how Cesare was. He hadn't reached that point yet that his love was gone for Juan entirely. He envied him, but he didn't hate him."

"That makes us different then. I've never cared for Giulio. Hiss impulsiveness grinds on me and often gets him in trouble. Ercole never bothered to straighten him out because he was the youngest. He grew up to be troublesome. He hated that the older legitimate sons got everything."

"You sound like Juan."

"Like Juan?"

"He told me once, mind you he was drunk off his ass, that he'd never cared for me or Cesare." She smiled when Ippolito looked surprised at her cursing. "He adored Sancia though and was bereft when he thought she was sleeping with Cesare too."

"Sancia was skilled in bed," he shrugged, "but I couldn't help remembering Angela. God knows I am possessed by your cousin!"

"Not possessed, but in love. Believe me when I say it strikes all men down sometime in their life. Cesare told me once if men knew why they'd make sure never to fall victim. He then told me of a time when Vannozza said love has no beginning or ending expect death."

"I can't imagine that," his expression was thoughtful as one hand rubbed his beard.

"Later he told me I was one of those few to be loved from the day I was born. He said he would love me from the day I was born until his last breathe."

"Poetic."

"Not really. He said it far less eloquently."

"I'm sorry."

"For what? You've done nothing to me."

"I informed Alfonso of you and Bembo. I was jealous that you'd found affection when I was being cast aside."

"I felt platonic love for Bembo. He professed platonic love too, but sometimes he'd touch my wrist a little too familiarly. He was anxious to leave me and demanded a token of my fidelity before he left. I gave him a lock of my hair." She was thinking as she spoke of Cesare's lock of hair in the ring she wore. She twisted it on her hand.

"That was kind of you."

"Is Giulio going to die?"

"I do not know."

"Angela won't forgive you."

"I expect not," his jeweled fingers clutched together, the knuckles turning white. "If Alfonso is kind he'll banish me and if not I'll meet my Lord."

"You're being religiously minded today."

"True," he smiled stiffly. "Why haven't you asked me if I'm regretting my actions?"

"There was a vast difference between him and Juan. Juan, indifferent to most people, was unrepentant of murder and needed little pretext to kill. Cesare on the other hand needed justification, which is why he struggled with himself when faced with the sacking of Capua."

"Which brother do you see in me?"

"In your motives I see Juan and your struggle to justify your action reminds me of Cesare."

"I am like both of them then?"

"In a way."

"Do you think of them often?"

"I think of Cesare every day and Juan occasionally. There are times when I see an action or manner that makes me go, "Juan would have said that," or "Jofre would have been angry at Juan for that."

"I don't understand your Borgia devotion. I think that is why Valentino bothered me so much when I met him. He was constantly word battling me to prove his family the better one and I played along out of no real devotion but to win against that genius he was renowned for."

"You do not understand because you are not particularly close to your family. As foreigners we were all we had, the only people we could trust next to ourselves."

"I see."

"Ippolito?"

"Duchess."

"I know she was young when you first met and that she gave you an impression she later withdrew, but forgive her for her age made her unintentionally hurtful. She was charmed by your attention and handsomeness, but with the added years upon her she matured and realized her error."

"Two years and more experience can make a difference. She regrets me."

"I'm sorry. Don't despair over Angela. She might yet change her mind. She is still too young to know herself well and her desires now are as changing as the day's weather."

"I don't think she will change her mind."

"Even if she does not there are other women whose intelligence and maturity would allow them to see the value in you."

"I do not believe we've ever had such an intimate conversation as this."

"Platonic love is often found under dire circumstances."

"Are you an expert in that sort of love?"

"I tend to find great joy in befriending people who don't even realize that what they yearn for is a shoulder to lean on."

"A crutch like that Ercole would scorn if he was here."

"He leaned on others too."

"Is that the reason you two were close when he died? I thought you merely meant to solidify your place in Ferrara after Valentino's downfall by endearing yourself to Ercole and Alfonso."

"Not every action I take is politically minded and I'd already been affirmed in my place here by the time his death came. Alfonso would have only been rid of me if I'd been barren."

"You haven't born him an heir yet."

"Is that a threat?"

"No. I can't believe of all the people I am acquainted with, intimately or otherwise, you are the person who best understands me. Would I threaten you if I thought thus?"

"Potentially, though not without a good reason." They both laughed because of the truth in her statement. Ippolito realized for the first time in the past two years why everyone enjoyed Lucrezia's presence.

* * *

><p>"Giulio can't see out of one eye and the other is blurry," Angela pressed the handkerchief to her wet cheeks, wiping them dry only to have more tears fall.<p>

"The fact that he lives is all the matters, Angela."

"Will Alfonso punish Ippolito for this?"

"I cannot say, but I would wager he won't let Ippolito off lightly."

"Giulio said he was going to demand that Ippolito have his own eyes mauled."

"An eye for an eye."

"Oh, Lucrezia, do not make jests. How would you have felt if it had been Alfonso?"

"I wasn't trying to make light of the situation, cousin, but to relief some of this anxiety. I am sure Alfonso will deal out justice accordingly and that Giulio will recover."

"He'll never recover his sight!" Lucrezia wrapped her arms around Angela, knowing the girl wasn't wailing purely over the injustice done to Giulio but over her love for him. She knew Angela would end her relations with Giulio given his disfigurement. Angela may not have realized it herself yet, but she would. Her cousin didn't have the mettle Giulio would need in a woman to tend him because of her tender age and whimsical nature.

"Lucrezia?" Alfonso was standing in the doorway, hands brushing dirt onto his houppelande. "Can I speak to you?"

"Of course. Be brave for Giulio, Angela." She walked in silence with him a ways, noting his uncertain expression. "Are you pondering what to do to Ippolito?"

"Am I that easy to read?"

"No, but I would be more surprised if you were thinking on something else."

"You should have seen poor Giulio. Our brother didn't deserve that."

"I agree."

"Yet…Ippolito is my favorite brother. He's gone to brothels with me, drank with me, jousted against me, and hunted beside me. How can I punish him with death?"

"Banish him."

"Giulio would not tolerate that. He'd think I was punishing him too lightly."

"Giulio isn't the Duke of Ferrara, Alfonso, and banishing is a good alternative to death. Think of how you'd feel after sending him to die instead. It's nasty business."

"I suppose," she ignored his curious look, knowing he was wondering if she'd ever killed anyone despite himself.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe he's only been banished. Look at what he's done to me," Giulio declared, anger's red touch sufficing his face.<p>

"It's deplorable," Ferrante agreed. "Alfonso's never had the right qualities to rule Ferrara. Look at how he enjoys working with his hands on pottery and cannon and even talks to his men in the foundries like they deserve to be so honored. A man of esteem need not approach him least he be scorned. We need a new Duke, one who will listen to nobles over the lowly subjects and who will deal out proper justice."

"You want to become Duke, Ferrante," Count Albertino Boschetti asked with a thoughtful expression.

"Yes. Not only would my rule be strictly lawful, but I'd be far more generous with my purse than Alfonso."

"He gets that nasty habit from Ercole," Giulio stated as he stood. "Who is with us?"

"I am," the captain of the palace guard said.

"Me too," one of Alfonso's minstrels added, thinking Ferrante would reward those who sided with him later because of his generous statement.

"I never cared much for the current Duke. Long live the new Duke of Ferrara."

"Duke Ferrante," said Giulio as he grabbed his brother's arm and led him help him out of the room. Ippolito would pay for blinding him and Angela would suffer for leaving him when he needed her most.

* * *

><p>Alfonso lowered the letter and leaned back against the headboard of their bed.<p>

"What's that look for?"

"My brothers have betrayed me."

'What do you mean," she sat up straighter, disregarding her letter from Cesare at the moment.

"Giulio wishes to get revenge upon Ippolito and if he killed me he could install Ferrante as Duke."

"What? Who told you this?"

"Ippolito has spies in Ferrara and has written to inform me of what they've heard. God damn them," his face took on a monstrous expression as he got angry and she marveled at this never before glimpsed side of him.

"Alfonso," she pressed her hand to his arm.

"My own brothers are against me when I had nothing to do with Ippolito's assault. It's all because I listened to you and banished him that they've turned traitors."

"Do not blame your misfortune upon me, husband, Ferrante likely coveted the dukedom long before I set foot in Ferrara and Ippolito and Giulio only used Angela as a pretext to do away with one another."

"How dare you!" He looked about to hit her she thought, which reminded her instantly of Giovanni and she cowered. He saw this and relaxed, looking anywhere but at her for a good minute. Then he grabbed her hands which she'd put up defensively and pulled her into his arms. "I'm sorry, I forget about that time in your life."

"You are stressed, it is little wonder you forget it in your own concerns."

"If I ever meet Giovanni I will teach him a thing or two about how to treat women."

"I'm sure you will."

"The only good thing Valentino ever did was oust Sforza." He noticed her dislike at his remark and stroking her hair fell silent.

* * *

><p>The conspirators, realizing they were in danger of being caught, fled. Ferrante stayed in Ferrara, betting upon his brother's goodwill as Giulio departed to Mantua to seek safety with Isabella.<p>

Ferrante sunk to his knees, "Forgive me, brother, I plead for your clemency. I was enticed by Giulio and what he offered and I swear I never sought your life!"

"You tried to kill me with poisoned daggers and now caught you say you never tried to murder me! Assassin is what I should call you instead of brother!" Alfonso was raging before his throne. The amiable and crude manners of his usual day to day disappeared as he moved back and forth like a caged tiger about to spring on his treacherous prey.

"Forgive me. Did not Christ forgive Judas?"

"Judas hung himself, Ferrante, are you willing to do the same?"

"I…" He glanced at his knees, hands placed before him. "I only went along with Giulio because…"

"Yes?"

"He tempted me as Eve was by Satan or Pandora by the jar."

"It wasn't Giulio who tempted you brother, but your own greed and envy." Alfonso picked up a staff and approached Ferrante. "Byzantine Emperor Justinian was said to have punished his general Belisarius for trying to dethrone him. Do you remember what the punishment was, Ferrante?"

"I don't remember any punishment."

"A petty," Alfonso raised his staff and letting out a furious shout gouged out Ferrante's eye with the staff. Lucrezia covered her face with her hands as Ferrante's painful cry was followed by sobbing and moaning. She waited until she heard Alfonso's order that Ferrante be taken to the tower and then the dragging sound of his boots on the floor as he was hauled out by some guards. When she reluctantly opened her eyes and lowered her arms the only evidence remaining of the crime was the blood upon the floor and Alfonso's staff.

She shuddered and crossed herself, begging God's forgiveness upon Alfonso for his crime. Alfonso gave the staff to a servant to be cleaned and another maid started scrubbing the floor as he walked out of the room. Lucrezia rose, gave her apologizes to the ambassadors and important persons, and left.

She hurried to her room and sat down at her writing desk. She took several unsteady breaths, rubbing cool water upon her face to relax herself, and when she finally regained her composure picked up her quill and began writing a letter to Cesare to inform him of the conspiracy.

* * *

><p>August twelfth saw the scaffold erection complete, the tribunes were filled, and now the scene only needed Alfonso. She waited anxiously at the window, watching as people scurried about hastily making the final preparations. Catalina was on the bed with Angela, offering her comforting words of condolence. Giulio had fled to Mantua, but Alfonso had demanded he be handed over and Francesco, not desiring to make Ferrara an enemy, coughed him up with little complaint.<p>

Count Boschetti and the other conspirators had been beheaded in front of the Palazzo della Ragione, but the two brothers executions would take place today.

"Duchess," Alfonso stood near the doorway, not bothering to venture further in at the sight of Angela's weeping figure. She moved reluctantly away from the window and went to her husband's side.

"Is everything ready?"

"It is."

"Then let us not postpone their anguish." She didn't let him take her hand and instead walked beside him solemnly, still hearing Angela's cry of mercy as they turned the corner.

"She is unduly upset," he said softly as they walked sedately.

"She loves Giulio."

"He tried to murder me."

"And he should be punished for it, but that does not however lessen her grief."

"Am I wrong in this?"

"You are only wrong if you feel you are. Does your conscious lie in accordance with what is about to happen?"

"Are you passing judgment upon me, wife?"

'No. I tend to try not to pass judgment upon any. All men think themselves in the right when they act and who am I to account them wicked for it? They are judged solely by God and we are told His infinite wisdom leads Him to mercy."

"God is kind." He smiled weakly. Neither spoke further as they entered the court of the castle. Lucrezia and Alfonso sat just as Giulio and Ferrante were being led to the block. She watched Alfonso as he spotted them and saw pity, an emotion she had not witnessed on him yet, etched into every pore. He raised his hand to signal that mercy would be granted. The sentence was now lessened to life imprisonment over death.


	24. Chapter 24

Lucrezia wrote to him that Julius required troops from Alfonso since he was a vassal of the Church. Guidobaldo of Urbino, who had adopted Francesco Maria della Rovere as his heir, and Francesco Gonzaga both fought for Julius much to her chagrin. September twelfth, the twelfth seemed a bad day to her lately she told him, saw the Pope take Perugia from the Baglioni and November eleventh saw his taking of Bologna from Giovanni Bentivogli. He was thankfully unable to go into the Romagna since the Venetian army held most the cities there and were no easy prey.

Cesare laughed as he read her missive. Lucrezia's kind and love laced letters was his only solace and her political grasp amused him, reminding him of a time when she'd no head for such things.

He set the current letter down, staring at the ceiling for a while before pulling out Leonardo's sketch. He imagined every night in her arms in his mind, recalling the sinuous hair falling onto his chest, the motion of her hips, the sensitive red nipples under his touch, the expression on her face as she reached bliss with him. He rolled onto his side, dispelling the thoughts and painfully ignoring his erection.

He couldn't forget her and yet he had too. He was imprisoned in Spain and was never going to see her again. He had to give up on her for he was a doomed man awaiting death. He hated his longing for life with a passion he hadn't thought possible; always his ardor for life had been one of his favorite qualities, but now he cursed himself to hell for it. What was the point in living this life when he'd never return to the Italia he'd spend years building up to greatest? What was the point when he'd never see her again?

"Are you being morose again?"

"Go away your Excellency."

"What happened now?" The Count of Benavente rolled his eyes at his melodrama.

"I received word that Ferdinand has gone to Naples in person." The King had thought for a while to free him and let him loose upon Gonzalo who had apparently betrayed Spain. Isabella was dead and Ferdinand's power in Castille was no longer absolute. Ferdinand, getting more proof of Gonzalo's treachery daily, decided to go himself.

"That ruins everything."

"Yes."

"I've a plan to free you though."

"How?"

"Rope." His head lifted in delight at the notion of freedom.

Later that night one of his servants Garcia and the Count of Benavente came to his room. Benavente had a cord tied around his waist under his clothing and Garcia immediately worked on the barred window, pulling the grates out. "You've been working on this for how long?"

"A while. Usually while you slept."

"We weren't certain it was going to be necessary."

"You two are my saviors."

"Remember that when you get your power back! I'll head below and get my riders ready."

"Thank you, Benavente!" He kissed the man's cheek in his joy and went to the window. Garcia started out the window first since he was a thin little fellow. "I think you can fit," Garcia called from outside "I'm starting down, be careful the castle wall is slippery."

It was a tight fit and his shoulders had to be turned at an odd angle to squeeze through the window. He clung to the cord, his feet pressed firmly against the rough fortress wall. He slowly edged his feet down the length of the wall, hands gliding down one after the other. He waited promptly for Garcia, who had halted for whatever reason.

"Garcia, what are you doing?"

"The rope isn't long enough. The drop is a long way!"

"Oh, for God's sake man, the guards will be upon us if you don't keep going. Jump down!"

"But Duke!"

"Do it or I'll kick you off this blasted cord!" Garcia, forced between the impending fall and Cesare's boot, pushed off from the wall and fell into darkness. Cesare blinked, glancing over his shoulder when he reached the very end of the rope. There was an unpleasant gape between where he hung and where the ground was.

He cursed, pondering if he should jump when someone above him, seeing his escape, cut the cord. He landed awkwardly, certain that he broke bones in several places, especially his hands. He lay in the grass, cursing and heard Garcia doing much the same some distance away. He sat up and looked about. Benavente, with some men and horses came galloping over, smiling as he shouted, "Valentino is there!"

Benavente and another man plucked him off the ground as torches carried by guards were seen coming from the fortress. "We must hurry!" One of his companions yelled, looking anxious at the advancing lights.

"Ride!" Benavente urged his horse into a gallop.

"What about me!" They heard Garcia cry out from the darkness. Cesare, half conscious and aware somehow that he stayed in the saddle, hoped they'd be lenient on the poor servant. He was after all of no importance.

"No time," the Count pointed out to his men as they spurred the horses onward and moved rapidly away from Medina del Campo and towards Benavente's stronghold of Villalon.

* * *

><p>Cesare shook his head, "That is the fifth time you've beaten me."<p>

"You're bad at it," Benavente said with a chuckle.

"This game is idiotic."

"You only dislike it because you keep losing."

"The dice are loaded."

"Are not!" Benavente laughed, "I swear on my honor they aren't."

"Forget this. Let's play Shut the Box."

"That is a French game and ridiculously easy to win. Liar's dice is a good game. You'll get better rolls."

"I prefer French games," he stated haughtily. "They at least don't cheat."

"The dice aren't loaded. How are you a Spaniard if you prefer French games?"

"I'm not a Spaniard. My father was. I'm Italian."

"We've come to check the Duke's hands," Benavente's physician said as he came in. "How are they today?"

"Good. The bones are mending nicely."

"Matias, help me! Which game do you prefer Liar's dice or Shut the Box?"

"Any Spaniard can answer that with ease. Liar's dice is far superior."

"I hate both of you." Benavente slapped him on the back good naturedly. "I'm well enough to leave."

"Duke―."

"No arguing with me, Benavente. I'm grateful for your help however I'm going to Navarre."

"Why Navarre? It's completely insignificant."

"My wife's brother lives there and he can give me employment. He was one of few people who tried for my release. Don't worry for me. I'll become a captain under Jean and eventually perhaps the Holy Roman Emperor. If not that then I'll do something else. We Borgia hate idling, but now I must learn from my father, who was patient as his Catalan relatives were murdered and what, Benevento, did he become after his long wait?"

"Pope," the Count said with a smile.

"Exactly."

* * *

><p>He rode with two attendants through Spain, noting how different the countryside was to his imagination of it. Limestone mountains were everywhere as they rode along, the peaks reaching into the heavens majestically. The Romagna had harsh winters and hot summers whereas Rome was more like Spain with sunny summers and mild winters. The weather here was mild all around he found. The coastline, when they reached it, was windy constantly and seldom dry. Santander was a wonderful display of nature with the Cantabrian Mountains located nearby.<p>

He found a great sincerity wash over him during the traveling. He hadn't felt this contented since before Alexander's death. He thought of his father routinely, usually when one of his attendants made a lewd remark about the Spanish ladies or made a gesture that Alexander sometimes did. He found his grief over his death brought no tears; just a kind of desolation at the prospect of never seeing him again. He didn't believe in an afterlife personally, but he hoped for his father's sake the Christian afterlife existed because he could imagine Rodrigo's disappointment if it didn't.

Cesare and his attendants sat down later that night at the inn after making arrangements to go to Castro Urdiales and depart from there to Navarre. Cesare ordered food and drink since they were all starving. As they were waiting he noticed the captain of the vessel they'd spoken to earlier speaking with the alcalde. The magistrate carried his staff of office proudly as he approached.

"What are your names, strangers?"

"I'm Cristobal de Aguilar."

"Jaime de Torres."

"Alvaro de Segovia."

"I'm Baltasar Gutiérrez. I've heard from Captain Ramires that you paid an exorbitant price for your passage. I was merely curious as to why?"

"We are wheat merchants," he said in fluent Spanish. "We need to reach Bernico with speed, our wheat is there you see and if we delay too long we'll suffer a great loss of profit."

"Wheat merchants huh?"

"Yes."

"We'll glad to have you in Santander. If you strangers need anything or suffer any injury while here come to me."

"Thank you." Cesare smiled, "Fooling trusting men like him is easy enough. Don't you agree Cristobel and Jaime?"

"I was so fearfully I thought I was going to kneel over," Jaime said with a chuckle. "Where's the nearest brothel?" He was eying one of the women at another table with a leer.

"I could eat a horse! Where's the food?" Jaime's sexual habits reminded him of Juan and Cristobel's food devouring always made him grin as he thought of Rodrigo.

* * *

><p>Castro Urdiales had a bridge that overlooked the harbor. For the two days they spent delayed there Cristobel visited some relatives and Jaime the brothel. He went to the brothel with Jaime the first day, but grew bored quickly. Few of the Spanish beauties could move him; he longed for the fair hair of the Romagna women and especially Lucrezia.<p>

He visited the church of Santa María de la Asunción just so he could write to his sister about it. He sat in the uncomfortable pew and took in the architecture. He gave a prayer to Alexander's soul, he may not have believed but Rodrigo would have appreciated it so he did. After visiting the church he went to the bridge and sat staring into the waters for a while.

It was strange with so much leisure time open to him. Even when young he'd been saddled with tutorage and then university had kept him preoccupied until he'd been made bishop and then cardinal. He felt oddly uncertain without the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, like a leaf dropped from a great tree and left to float upon the winds aimlessly. He had always enjoyed carnival, wrestling, hunting, and general ruckus in the little piece of freedom allotted him, but that wasn't things one did on a daily basis.

Commoners passed him by in the streets of Castro Urdiales, busy going about their mandate lives. He couldn't understand them. How could they live such carefree lives? How could they stand doing the same tedious tasks? He saw fish sellers leaving the docks and sailors working on their vessels. The privileged life he'd lead hadn't taught him to give two figs about these people, expect that they didn't riot against him or turn him over to his enemies. He had treated the people of the Romagna with care because it was politically profitable to do so and because seeing pillaging and rape didn't please him, not because he'd been extremely concerned with the populous.

He sighed, wondering if the reason he was accounted cruel was only because of his indifference towards the well-being of others. All his life the only thing that had been instilled in him was obedience to the Borgia House's political survival. He ran a hand through his hair, wondering as he did why he'd never bothered to befriend his servants before. He'd always treated those people with either indifference or an absent acknowledgement, not the regard he gave to important captains or ambassadors. He supposed thinking on it he'd regarded the rank and file soldiers favorably, but that was because they served his purposes in the Romagna and because he valued the might they lent him, not their individual persons.

He turned from the bridge and began the trek back to the inn. Even when imprisoned in La Mota he'd had eight servants who he'd treated at the best of times with disregard and the worst of times with angry utterances when they messed up. He wondered now how they tolerated nobility. Did they have no pride? Or did they snuff their pride and take the insults because they had no other option available? Was that the reason Lucrezia had been so angry when he'd killed Pantasilea? Had she cared for the women to the same extent as Sancia and Giulia?

He dismissed these thoughts when he reached the inn and settled down into a nearby chair.

Jaime was smiling and whistling when he walked in. He stopped when he saw him, "Something happen, Duke?"

He looked up into Jaime's eyes, wondering how he liked being a servant. "Do you like attending to me, Jaime?"

"I don't mind it."

"Has anyone ever asked you that before?"

"Of your rank no. To be honest you're unnerving me."

"I've had a lot of time to contemplate my life and find I've been an ass to most of my servants."

"Most nobles are and to be frank you're the nicest I've ever known. You speak to me like a person."

"I do?"

"Aren't you right now, your Excellency?" He smiled at the man, surprised to find at least Jaime thought him kind.

"Most people wouldn't say that of me."

"They don't know you then. I can't fathom how Julius or Louis can treat you so disrespectfully and call you such monstrous things when you're a nice guy as you are."

"Politics don't care for the person."

"Seems that way I reckon. You even went out whoring with me, ain't any of your rank done that before."

"How you ever been to Pamplona?"

"No."

"Has Cristobel?"

"Can't say."

"I admit I'm nervous."

"Wouldn't have pegged you as anxious, not to say your unfeeling, but because you always appear calm."

"That is my training, Jaime, that's what they teach men of my sort. To smile when you're being insulted and laugh when you're enemy has dubbed you. Show outrage and disgust only in private and even then make sure no spies are around and never speak your true thoughts aloud for fear they may be used against you."

"Sounds like a jaded life."

"I wouldn't say that. Some times were wonderful."

"That's good."

"My fate lays in the hands of the King of Navarre and whatever he chooses to do with me will elevate me back into a commander, see me imprisoned, or left to my own devices if he's uncaring about my plight. I might very well become a servant myself, though how I'd cope with the change I can't say."

"You're adaptable, Duke, you'd do fine."

"I've learned something on this travel so perhaps all is not lost?"

* * *

><p>Pamplona was located in a valley with the Arga tributary to the right. Mountains flanked the north, combining the two extremes of mountains and coast that was the entire landscape of Navarre. The walled city opened her arms to the strangers and Cesare hastened to the palace after stopping at a bathhouse and changing into more appropriate attire. He had nothing as fine as he'd once worn as Duke of the Romagna, but he managed to buy some semi-noble looking garments.<p>

He walked with purpose up the steps of the Navarrese palace, introducing himself to the guards, who stunned looks aside, introduced him to the captain of the palace guards. The captain, took his word for truth and introduced him to the majordomo. The majordomo laughed in his face and declared he could not be who he claimed as the man was imprisoned.

"But you are wrong. Do you know the Count of Benavente?" He held out the missive from Benevento vouching for his name. The majordomo read the letter and upon finishing looked at him with an awed countenance.

"Will you take me to meet His Majesty now?"

"Yes, right away."

Jean III d'Albret and King due to his marriage to Catherine of Navarre laughed at his valet as he sat down. Having returned from hunting and in an amiable mood he kissed Catherine lightly on the cheek, complementing her beauty before turning his attention to his majordomo's entrance. The herald, listening to the majordomo's instructions, looked aghast at whatever he was saying.

"Cesare Borgia, Duke of Valentinois and Romagna, Prince of Andria and Venafro, Count of Dyois, Lord of Piombino, Camerino and Urbino―."

"Save your breath. I do not even hold most of those titles anymore. Valentinois will do."

"Cesare Borgia?" Jean sat straighter, examining the famous or infamous depending on who you asked Borgia. He was tall with a built soldierly figure, graceful as a prince and suave enough to use his charm to his upmost advantage. He was exactly as Charlotte had described him.

"Your Majesty," Cesare stated with the ghost of a grin hovering at the corner of his lips.

"My sister did not lie about you. You are welcome to my court."

"It is a pleasure to be here. I've long wondered on my travel to get here what Pamplona was like. The walls are impressive for a town of this size, but I've noticed you don't keep a heavy guard."

"We are a small player in the grand scheme of things, Valentino, and thus need little to secure the city and run the garrison."

"I see."

"I am sure you could help us in other matters though," Jean's knowing smile amused him. He had seen through his ploy of speaking of his defenses as a way of finding employment. "We are involved in a most bothersome quarrel with Louis de Beaumont."

"I am sure I may offer my military services."

"I was thinking you might," Jean, ever aware of the small kingdom he commanded, was constantly on the vigil to keep his lands. Spain and French since time unmemorable had cast longing glances at the small state inconveniently pressed between the two behemoths.

* * *

><p>"Valentino!" Jean walked up hurriedly, embracing him in his usual uncomfortable familiarity. He had learned in the few weeks here that Jean constantly put people off guard because of his intimate affability.<p>

"Your Majesty."

"What did I tell you, Cesare?"

"To call you by name, but you know me and I am a strict adherer of formality until better acquainted with a person."

"Has it not been long enough?"

"I do not think so."

"How long is enough then?"

"A lifetime would do."

"You tease me which must mean you've some fondness for me."

"I tease all manner of men. Do not account yourself special."

Jean shook a finger at him, great humor in his eyes and smile. "Have you received word of your appeal to France?"

"I did. Here's the letter." He handed the letter over to Jean.

"After the decease of the late Pope Alexander, when our people and our army were seeking the recovery of the kingdom of Naples, he (Cesare) went over to the side of our enemies, serving, favoring, and assisting them at arms and otherwise against ourselves and our said people and army, which resulted to us in great and irrecoverable loss." Jean scowled after having read aloud, face turning a shade of red unimaginable to him beforehand. Cesare hadn't in truth acted against France at the time of his capture, though he had been considering it.

"That insufferable Frenchmen! He's no right to be King, he should instead be licking your boots!"

"As much as I hate his actions Louis is only being practical. He's taken my dukedom too, saying since I no longer serve France it's going back to her."

Jean's Spanish became incensed and Cesare only caught a few choice cusses in his deriding of the monarch. He smiled with warmth at his friend's show of concern and took his hand. The man relaxed, meeting his eyes with genuine feeling.

"Truly, Jean, your concern touches me, but let the thought not bother you henceforth. I've no care for a title given begrudgingly. Let them take my paltry titles, lands, and revenue and let them enjoy this small victory. They will however remember how an enemy of a Borgia fairs in the end."

"They will know your wrath when you rise again and you will shower them with pestilence far worse than any the Lord did over Egypt."

Cesare smiled, clasped Jean's hand, and sped off down the hall.


	25. Chapter 25

This chapter was hard to write and I hope I did him some small justice :) R&R to tell me if you liked it, also there will be at least one more chapter. Did anyone see The Borgias last night ;) I was shocked by their Francesco of Mantua, but can maybe see Lucrezia being with him later. My Lucrezia pretty much manipulates my Francesco for her brother's benefit so I'm curious to see what Showtime does latter with that.

* * *

><p>"Illustrious Prince," Francesco smiled wanly as he met Alfonso's eyes. The Duke of Ferrara waved a hand, indicating he should read on. "I inform you that after innumerable disappointments it has pleased God, our Master, to free me and to release me from prison. How this happened you will learn from my secretary Federigo, the bearer. May this, by God's never-failing mercy, redound to his great service."<p>

He reached for his goblet as Lucrezia, hearing the joyous news, let out a sigh of rapture. Cesare's freedom meant the world to her. She waited anxiously to know what he was doing as Francesco lazily sipped his wine.

"At present I am with the illustrious King and Queen of Navarre in Pamplona, where I arrived December 3d, as your Majesty will learn from the above-named Federigo, who will also inform you of all that has occurred. You may believe whatever he tells you in my name, just as if I myself were speaking to you. I commend myself to your Excellency forever. From Pamplona, December 7, 1506. Your Majesty's friend and younger brother, Cesare."

"That is good news," Isabella, never particularly fond of Cesare but good at pretending, dabbed at her lips as she set her knife down.

"This is good news to my wife indeed," Alfonso concurred. "Does it bring you pleasure?"

"It brings me much joy. Cesare suffered unnecessarily in Spain. May God see him safely placed in Pamplona."

* * *

><p>He leaned out over the wall, glancing across the valley to the coast and blue horizon beyond. He sighed as he churned over his thoughts and clasped his hands together in a manner beat into him from his cardinal days.<p>

"Is something troubling you, Duke?" Queen Catherine of Navarre held her head high as she approached, her curled ringlets and purple skirts signified her rank along with her majestic bearing.

"Many things trouble wise men."

"A truer statement can scarcely be found."

"My father use to say that the older you get the more easily you become troubled by the past. Suddenly I find I agree with him when once I would have scoffed and dismissed his statement as age's vice upon his prudence. I think he never felt at home in Rome, not when he so often prattled on about Spain and his desire to establish a place there for Juan. I sometimes think he held as little love for the Romans as they hold for Catalans."

"Men often cling to their fondest times by recounting their memories."

"I think he loved us and for our sake became Pope when he would have preferred to return to Valencia. He was planning on marrying Lucrezia to a Valencian gentleman until he became Christ's Vicar."

"I've never thought of Alexander VI in such terms before. I imagine him very differently than a man nostalgic for his homeland."

"You are right to imagine him as a prudent, shrewd old goat, Your Majesty, but he was loyal beyond measure to those he loved. He loved the time he spent in Spain as a boy and often regaled us children with stories when he visited us before his election."

"Did you love your father?" The question threw him because he'd never been asked by people unrelated to him before. He stared into her eyes a long moment, uncertainty fluttered across his face as he turned his gaze back to the view.

"He was my sole reason for being here and he gave me everything." He closed his eyes, comparing Rodrigo and Giuliano and finding his Borgia father had bestowed love, titles, and every conceivable worldly good on him even when he doubted his paternity. If that did not make Rodrigo Borgia a good man, it certainly made him a good father. Julius had given him the sword and duplicity in return for his fears.

He laughed and shook his head. Yes, he had loved Rodrigo and still did in fact.

"Do you miss Rome the way Rodrigo missed Jativa?"

His face turned grave in the failing light as shadows played across the valley and the orange orb sank below the horizon.

"It is not Rome I miss," recalling the many times Lucrezia and he had spoken of missing Rome when talking about each other.

"Who do you miss?"

"Why do you think I feel miss anyone?"

"You come up here every day around this time with a wistful expression and you're trying to tell me you don't feel you've lost someone?"

"Opportunity perhaps," he glanced away from her prying eyes. "I had everything going for me while Alexander lived and so many things I could have done, moments I could have prolonged…"

"What do you mean?"

"I spent my youth carelessly in Pisa. I could have been in Rome with my family."

"Ah," her pretty features contorted strangely as she tried to reconcile her misgivings with the man he was proving to really be.

"Never mind such drivel. I'm turning sentimental here. I'm leaving for Viana in a few days to deal with Louis."

"Jean told that."

"I'm sure."

"I wish you luck, Duke."

"I'm no duke anymore. Call me Cesare Borgia as I once was called before I held any titles. I am no longer the Pope's son either."

"If that pleases you."

"It does," he smiled stiffly.

* * *

><p>Most Illustrious Duchess, our very dear sister:<p>

His Majesty of Navarre has bestowed on me the title Captain-General and as I make preparations now to besiege Louis in Viana I am hopeful for my future. After this trifling matter with Louis I intend to go to the Holy Roman Emperor and seek advancement as a general. My plans were shattered to the winds upon the Holy Father's untimely departure, but my fortune has turned favorable once more. I am plagued by the past every time I glance at my sword. I am reminded daily how fleeting life is and joy, life's treasured gift, entwined ever with love, eludes me here. I stand on the brink of rebirth or ruin, where hesitation will be my undoing. The life I once knew in the past, that glorious epoch that rose before me only to tumble at the slightest gust of fortune's cruel winds, remains with me. That time that is dead and gone taunts me here, reminding me of all my former campaigns in the Romagna as I camp outside Viana. The Borgia, once respected and feared, is no more than the dust carriages tramped over now. The world has moved on and the prince I once was, who commanded with guile and men, am reduced to be a leech on the pay of higher men. I am now the reviled loser of a game I played masterfully. I wonder as I write to you, you who understood me better than any other, if you think my fate a curse from your God for my defiance, that my aspiration of the worldly and denial of Him was my downfall. I don't see his hand in this even now which disappoints you I know. I recall Rodrigo taking me aside once and scolding me for punching Juan after he pulled your braid. He said our blood is our life, meaning I believe that our family is our reason for living. I think a great deal on our family here, on Jofre's unwavering loyalty to me at the fall and of your sweet imploring to all manner of kings for my sake and I wonder what I ever saw worthy in others. I bid you not to forget me in Ferrara, that my presence lingers with you as yours does me, that you recall me fondly and feel no bitterness towards my actions. When I was in Rome, surrounded by Rodrigo, Jofre, and Miguel for company and with you nestled in my arms at night I knew no greater joy for even my triumphs in the Romagna inspired only a faint delight in comparison. I will write no further professions, but I would have you know my affection was sincere from beginning to end and that I only mean to make you aware of how you haunt me here, not to cause you grief or despair. Forgive me, if you can, of my crimes against you.

Cesare Borgia, Your Excellency's brother, who loves you better than himself…

She let out a breath, pressing the vellum to her chest as she stilled her inner being. His torment and disappointment in life since Alexander's passing was more than she could bear. She pressed a hand to her wet cheeks, wondering absently if the rouge was smeared now. Cesare seem to be one of few who could bring her to tears. She didn't speak when Alfonso entered, paused at her stricken face, and left as quickly as he'd come. She walked over to her bed and collapsed upon it, sobbing for her comfortable life here in Ferrara when Cesare suffered in Viana and praying that God would be merciful and see his hopes fulfilled with the Emperor.

* * *

><p>"Miguel de Corella," Machiavelli smiled in that disconcerting way of his as his eyes examined every inch of the formerly most feared assassin in the peninsula.<p>

"I was hopeful you could help me. Is it true that Valentino lives?"

"In Navarre under hire of Jean III."

"Joy to his propitious future, Niccolò."

"Yes," the Florentine was aware Cesare would never reach his former glory, at least not anytime soon. Politics were shifting sands, which he might climb to regain all he'd lost if he was careful and risky at the right moments.

"I would like to serve the Duke once more. However getting to Navarre proves a troubling task. I can't find employment and I've hardly a florin to my name."

"I told you when you wrote me from Rome I'd try to procure you a position. Unfortunately it's not much and the pay isn't great."

"I only need enough to live and save up for my travel to Navarre."

"Did you try writing Valentino? He might supply you with the means to get there."

"I will not impose upon him."

"I doubt he'll mind."

"I won't."

"I thought you wouldn't so I wrote him for you. He says if he had the means he would bring you immediately, however given his own tentative place there and the small kingdom he fights for he doesn't have the kind of funds he once did. He struggles just to feed his army. He sends his regards and asks after your health. He also offers his sincerest gratitude for your circumspect actions when the Pope interrogated you."

"That is gracious of him."

"He should be hailing you a king for few men keep quiet under torture and you've kept all his secrets."

"I had none to give," he said with a laugh and a smug smile.

"I don't understand you, Miguel."

"What is there to understand?"

"Your loyalty is astonishing. Prudence dictates betrayal when presented with torture and yet you befuddle reason with your fealty."

"I owe everything I am to Cesare."

"Wasted sentimentality," he stated with the ease of someone who lacked any familial or partisan loyalty and definitely someone who'd never been a pariah to society.

"I cannot decide if I envy or loath you, Machiavelli. Your ease of conscious is more astonishing than my fealty towards the Duke."

"I do not follow, but as I was saying earlier you can be assured of the position of Captain of the Justice. The position is mostly the controlling of the rioters and enforcing the law."

"I think the position suits me and Niccolò?"

"Yes?"

"You'll know why I remained loyal to Cesare someday when you are faced with a similar dilemma."

* * *

><p>Illustrious Brother-in-Law and Honored Brother:<p>

I have just learned that by command of his Holiness our Federigo, the chancellor of the duke, my brother, has been seized in Bologna; I am sure he has done nothing to deserve this, for he did not come here with the intention of doing or saying anything that would displease or injure his Holiness—his Excellency would not countenance or risk anything of this sort against his Holiness. If Federigo had been given any order of this nature he would have first informed me of it, and I should never have permitted him to give any ground for complaint, for I am a devoted and faithful servant of the Pope, as is also my illustrious husband. I know of no other reason for his coming than to inform us of the duke's escape. Therefore I consider his innocence as beyond question. This apprehension of the courier is especially displeasing to me because it will injure my brother, the duke, making it appear that he is not in his Holiness's favor, and the same may be said of myself. I, therefore, urgently request your Excellency—of course if you are disposed to do me a favor—to use every means to induce his Holiness to release the messenger promptly, which I trust he will do out of his own goodness, and owing to the mediation of your Excellency. There is no way your Majesty could give me greater pleasure than by doing this, for the sake of my own honor and every other consideration, and in no way could I become more beholden to you. Therefore, I commend myself again to you with all my heart.

Your Majesty's Sister and Servant,

The Duchess of Ferrara. Ferrara, January 15, 1507.

Francesco frowned at the letter, wishing Lucrezia would stop writing him on behalf of her brother. He may have been made Julius' Captain General and his bonds with the della Rovere's was secure, but her continual pleading was vexing half the nobility and monarchs from Spain to England and putting unnecessary scrutiny towards him through his relations to her.

He glanced at Isabella lying prone on the bed, eyes closed as she slept, hands flung at odd angles as her hair spread out around her head. He smiled at the peaceful expression on her face, folded the letter from Lucrezia, and set the correspondence aside for when his mind was clearer. He lay down, spreading his rich hair upon the silken pillows and closed his eyes, wondering if tomorrow would be less stressful than today had been.

* * *

><p>Most Excellent Sister,<p>

The walls of Viana keep us at bay, but we have begun the process of starving the inhabitants. Pray for my success. I was sitting down with some soldiers who were talking about a well-known love story. The story's tale, which I've heard related in the public square, was altogether different than the one I know. The story reminded me of us and so I am inclined to relate it. A knight named Tristan, whose name means sorrow, went to the court of his uncle King Mark. Tristan was sent to fetch his uncle's wife from Ireland and instead fell in love with the beautiful Isolde or Iseult. I am not sure which is correct for the soldiers were fighting over which spelling was more authentic. The soldiers were again in dispute over something to do with some love potion. Nevertheless the two lovebirds kept up the affair for some time after she married. Mark learned of it and Tristan was banished. He went to Brittany where he became a solider and married a princess named Iseult of the White Hands. He was poisoned, I can't recall how, and sent a letter to Isolde of Cornwall to come to his aid as she was a skilled healer. If she was coming she should hoist white sails and if his love no longer moved her and she refused black should be flown. His wife sat by his bedside and when the ship appeared, white sails blowing in the wind, she jealously stated the sails were the color of night. Tristan, whether from poison or grief, expired. Isolde found him dead and swooned, dying shortly afterwards of her sorrow. Are the parallels not evident? Are you not my beautiful princess and I your harp playing knight?

Cesare Borgia, who loves you better than himself.

She laughed, blushing when Angela and Catalina gave her speculative looks and Isabella one of vexation.

* * *

><p>Cesare sat up with a start, hearing the sound of alarming trumpets. He rose hastily, pulling armor on and mounted the nearest horse as the call to arms blared on. He rode to Puerta del Sol and cursed venomously when his horse stumbled. He managed to compel the beast to rise and mounted once more spurred the horse in a gallop after the retreating enemy rearguard. They had been biding their time starving the rebels; no way was he going to allow them to get that cargo to the town. He realized none of his own men followed as he advanced towards the enemy and tried variously to halt the infernal creature. The horse continued unheedingly into the enemy troops. Cesare, aware nothing was left to do but fight and hope his men came rushing to fight, unsheathed his sword and sliced into flesh.<p>

"Where is he, this little Count?" He roared as his anger grew at the realization he was alone and likely to die. His horse fell, but as undeterred by misfortune as ever he stood before any could slay him and fought back. He fought the cluster of stony faced men around him, hacking wildly at every exposed spot, felling three in quick succession. He glared into the eyes of a boy no older than eighteen with freckles and curly brown hair before leveling a snarl at the closest man in his forties. He had a wrinkled face, crooked nose, and jutting chin with a thatch of black hair peeping out of his helmet. He had never thought his last sight on earth would be the face of ugly men. He laughed, lunging forward as one of Beaumont's men hit the mark. He felt the metal only fleetingly before it was yanked out, felt the trickle of warm blood down his left arm as the solider cut into his shoulder.

He dropped to his knees, wondering as another sword thrust through his breast plate and pierced his chest if the sky had ever looked bluer than it did today nor been so devoid of clouds. The sun was bright and the hard earth beneath his knees reminded him of the greenness of grass. He remembered the warmth of Lucrezia's arms as they lay in the grass at their mother's house and thought the only thing which might have made his final seconds more enjoyable would have been to see her face one final time. It was not, in the end with all things said and done, a bad day to die.

* * *

><p>"Should we inform the Duchess?" Magnanini, Alfonso's counselor, asked Ippolito.<p>

"I think not. She has shown a great deal of affection for her brother and I fear how she will take the news. I think we are better off waiting for Alfonso to relate the news when he returns."

"What do we say in the meantime?"

"I'll handle it." Ippolito waved Magnanini away and approached the gaggle of ladies-in-waiting.

"Your Eminence," Lucrezia smiled, "we were just speaking about you. I was just telling Catalina I suspect you're very delighted to be back in Ferrara."

"I was inclined towards happiness before I received some news pertaining to Spain."

"What has Spain done now?" Her face though indifferent could not hide the dislike in her eyes at the mention of Spain. Ever since Cesare's interment in Medina she had showed a great dislike towards the Spanish monarchy and refused to call herself anything but a Roman when speaking about her heritage.

"Valentino was laying siege to Viana as I am sure you are aware." Ippolito hesitated at the curious gleam in her eyes. No doubt she was expecting news of his success as Cesare had never failed in military conquests to this day. He looked away, feeling suddenly nauseous. He had never paused at speaking of touchy subjects with others, but the goodness of Lucrezia and her expectant expression overwhelmed him with a sense of acute grief at how much this was going to hurt her. She was his friend, no…more his family than Giulio or Ferrante had ever been.

"He was wounded in battle." The change from hopeful triumph to terrified concern crossed her face rapidly. Her smile dampened into a frown, her smooth brow ceased with lines, and her lashes lowered to conceal the extend of her feelings in a matter of seconds.

"How badly?"

"He has…" he hesitated on his word choice, quarreling with himself on how badly he should state Valentino was injured. The longer he remained silent the worse her anxiety and, without hindsight, blurted out. "He's suffered a wound to the leg."

"Will they have to amputate?" Her stunning eyes bore into his with the strength of will he'd come to see in the Borgia brood. He didn't doubt they'd inherited this perseverance from the former Pope.

"I do not know the details. Alfonso wrote me the news."

"I see. Thank you for relating the condition of my brother. I intend to go pray for him. If you have need of me I'm going to take a brief sojourn to the convent nearest so that I'll not be disturbed."

"I think prayers for Valentino a good measure, Duchess. If you'll excuse me." Lucrezia was silent as Ippolito left and didn't say a word for a good minute as her ladies stared apprehensively between each other.

"Should I send for Angela?" Adelaide asked when the silence grew too unbearable.

"No need. I'll go alone and dressed as a commoner."

"Is that wise?"

"I do not wish to burden others. Alexander once said when grief comes upon me that I become irksome. I also do not wish any to pray for Cesare who do so without sincerity."

"But Angela is your cousin and knew―."

"Angela may make her peace much easier for she scarcely remembers Cesare. He was conquering states while she was still a child nagging at her mother's skirts."

"Duchess…"

"I would have one of you inform Angela of my departure. Stop being so jittery. Can you help me change, Elettra?"

"Yes." The garments procured from a maid that Elettra and Clarissa helped her into were plain and threadbare. The petticoat was a drab brown with no ribbons or pattern, the corset was grey and bound a little too tightly. The worn leather belt and the scuffed shoes, along with the white linen caul Adelaide fastened over her lustrous curls, finished the meek attire. Her pearl earrings and gold necklace were gone, alleviating her of the weight of their costly ornamentation.

Lucrezia was relieved when her ladies, seeing her unfazed attitude, perked up and began chatting freely again. She needed this small minute of normalcy to get her through the day.

She left the palace grounds, walking through the streets of Ferrara as a commoner. The experience was unfamiliar after all this time, but not one she was unused to. She had walked the streets as a commoner with Giulia when she'd been younger. Adriana had forbidden them carnival one year and clever Giulia had sneaked them outside as two maids. The carnivals and the processions that occurred after that they'd turned into a tradition of dress up and sneak out.

She descended onto the unsuspecting convent and the abbess let her in once she recognized her face due to her monetary contributions and visits to all the convents in Ferrara. She was graciously given a small remote room with a conjoined chapel. She sat for some time on her knees on the stone, listening to the vespers, her hands clasped and head bowed, her sleeves bunching up at the junction between her arm and elbow.

She recalled the familiarity of kneeling as a young girl during mass with Adriana's knee grating against her own as they crowded together. She hadn't knelt so long since. She'd gone to mass regularly and attended hundreds of ceremonies, but the duration of those kneeling events was never too long.

She stared a long while at the wall, images of her childhood playing before her eyes. Cesare's firm hand and sure gaze as they traversed the gardens and narrow streets of the houses nearby Vannozza's. Occasionally he would get them lost and his certainty would falter at her tears, but he'd merely take her hand and lead her magically back to Vannozza's, smiling and stating that God loved her too much to leave her weeping in some unknown spot. Juan's jubilant arrogance as he bested Cesare in mock fights and took all the girls Cesare cast longing gazes at and playing quietly with Jofre and his makeshift dolls regaled her now. Rodrigo's delighted laughter as he saw the joy on their faces when he arrived and gave each of them sweets and trinkets for waiting out his absence. She recalled those memories fondly, though they were steadily becoming vaguer as time wore on.

Cesare would sneak into her room complaining of odd noises at night―which they later realized were their parents making love―and they would listen to Vannozza's soft murmuring as they paused outside her chamber before going in. She would nestle in his arms as he related his latest feat of daring against Juan or his studies with one of his tutors. She would spin tales of handsome men and ladies and speak of the little tidbits of gossip she overheard until Cesare would dose off as it grew late. Sometimes she'd be anger, but other times she'd let it go, figuring he'd had a long day and press her face into his hair and fall asleep herself.

As he'd grown older and become a man, studying for countless weeks on end away from Rome, he'd stopped sneaking into her room on his days back. She'd kept up the ritual, but half the time he'd scold her and make her return to her chambers and the rest of the time he'd lay facing away from her and be angry when she spoke or tried to touch him. Thinking back on his behavior she didn't doubt her behavior had caused him great vexation given his attraction to her and that her trying to be as touchy as they'd once been had unnerved him and made him weary that she might figure out his desires.

She remembered her first inkling of sexual desire. She'd been twelve and had searched all over for Cesare because he'd snuck off early that morning. She'd caught him nude in a neighbor's outdoor bath. His glowing scrubbed skin tanned from sun even at sixteen, his limps firming with muscles given his regular training, and his hair blazing like fire in the bright July sun had dazzled her. She'd thought him Adonis or some other great hero of old as she watched. She hadn't noticed the first stirrings of desire until she now thought back on that day, laughing in remembrance of the urge to touch him which had overwhelmed her then.

She still could almost feel his lips on her forehead as he left for Perugia for the first time and the sad look in his eyes. The lonely days seeking consolation in Juan, Jofre, and Vannozza, yet constantly knowing none of them would ever understand her as Cesare did. She barely remembered how she'd felt when she'd left Vannozza's house to go live in the Orsini palace. She assumed she'd felt bereft, but couldn't conjure up any memories of saying goodbye to her mother. She could clearly remember Adriana's first impression on her; tight lipped, stern faced, cross wearing and dressed in nun black she had thought her an abbess but for her lack of headdress. She remembered Giulia's first impression too. Willowy, headstrong, impulsive, and as arrogant as any Borgia she had commanded everyone's attention. Her beauty and gutsy boldness was what had first attracted Rodrigo and her evasive charming smile had kept him crawling back.

She could still remember the transformation Giulia had undergone after Rodrigo's fourth visit. She hadn't understood at the time, but the glow in her cheeks and the increased brazenness had all been indications of the beginning of their long affair. She briefly wondered if Giulia and Sancia had noted a similar change in her the day after her first night with Cesare.

She could still recount the calluses upon his fingers as they lay in the dark that night, their hands entwined, one of her legs flung over his hairier one. The velvety touch of her fingertips against his nipple had amused her. He'd hated that, telling her Giovanni may have liked it but he didn't. She had laughed, lowering her hand to his belly and spreading her fingers as wide as they could, trying to caress every inch of him, even the hard wall that was his stomach. She'd kissed the side of his mouth as her fingers went lower and she saw the flicker of arousal in his dark eyes.

She blinked away the thought, knowing a convent wasn't a good place to foster these memories, especially given God's disapproval of their sin. Cesare would have laughed at her if he'd been there, telling her God couldn't disapprove of them because he wasn't there to do so. He would have softened this once he saw her dislike of his apostasy and would have relented by saying instead that God, who created both good and evil, must approve of their sin because if he didn't approve of love he wasn't worth worshiping. She would have laughed at his absurd notions, calling him a heretical catholic and a terrible example of a Pope's son. She would have even smilingly remarked that it was little wonder the cardinal robes had irked him so.

Lucrezia frowned at the ceiling, laboring on whether or not Cesare's faithlessness, like that of the prodigious and blasphemously unrepentant Lucifer before him, had been the reason God now saw fit to deprive Cesare of a leg. She prayed to God, asking him to forgive Cesare of his wrongdoings, to wash clean his bloodied hands and distasteful attitude towards God and religion.

After this she sat for some time, wringing her hands and wondering if Cesare would ever repent of his sins. He was a good man, truly deep down he was one of the best she knew, but life weighted heavily on him and in his pursue for glory and familial aspirations he'd forsaken God, seeing him as a useless relic of past times and only deeming him necessary to manipulate others.

She knew if she ever asked him, which she hadn't out of fear of his reaction, that one of his reasons for renouncing God had been because He condemned them for loving each other. She hated the idea that he'd turned from their Lord in Heaven due to her, she hated the idea that their love was unholy, and that eventually at the end of her life, as she lay dying, she might renounce that sinful love to save her eternal soul. Of all her trepidations her greatest was losing Cesare due to her religious convictions and if he ever found out she knew he wouldn't forgive her.

She fawned over this issue as the hours toiled on. She thought of the terrible fate her brother had suffered, of what kind of pain he must be in, of the worry he'd never walk as a normal man again. She imagined him withering in a bed in Viana, cursing the misstep that had landed him wounded there. She liked to think his thoughts of her were unconcerned because he'd know, even without a leg, that he'd still have her at his side.

She stayed for two days in the convent; eating, sleeping, worrying, and praying the long hours until exhaustion coaxed her to restless slumber. She awake on the second day late and decided she'd leave that day. She left at dusk, walking past couples holding hands and children running around in wild abandon. She tried not to dwell on Cesare as she made her way back, knowing her will had to be fortified upon her return to court or else her adversaries would slander her.

The walk brought peace of mind and when she was back in her chambers she felt calm as Catalina helped her undress. Angela came into her apartments, her eyes wide in her stricken face.

"Why are you so white? Have you run from somewhere?"

"I was in the courtyard with Alessandro. I came as quickly as I could." Alessandro Pio of Carpi and Sassuolo had been vying for Angela's hand and she, torn between imprisoned Giulio and her desire for the count, had hesitated on giving him an answer. September had seen her resolve crumple at his proposals and December had seen them wedded.

"Do not look so distraught Angela," she ordered as Catalina held up a pair of beautiful emeralds.

"You are not upset then?"

"I am perturbed, but we Borgia preserve all hardships." She shook her head at Catalina.

"I am relieved to hear that," Angela's face became flushed with color again slowly as she relaxed. "I had thought you less impartial to him."

"Whatever do you mean by that?" She took the gold dangling earrings from Catalina and checked her face in the mirror.

"I just thought…oh never mind. Let's put this terrible news behind us. Alessandro thinks I'm with child. I've been sick in the mornings."

"You are excited I suppose."

"You know me too well."

"I only know a young girl's heart. I was once as fanciful about childbirth and impressionable by soft words and magnetic smiles."

"Aren't you still?" Angela laughed, "Francesco is a persuasive charmer I hear."

"He gives me some solace in these harsh times, Angela. A comforting bedfellow and love do not go hand in hand, just as love and marriage do not always."

"I'm confused. You love Alfonso then?"

"You're too young to understand."

"I wish you would not say that. I've matured since Giulio and now I am married!" Lucrezia smiled at the remembrance of her own renunciation to Cesare's insistence of her youth. Love, she knew, true unrelenting, unfaltering love, like the kind that endured time apart, was the only thing that made boys and girls grow into men and women. Angela may have professed love for Ippolito, Giulio, and Alessandro now, but she knew they were infatuations which time, distance, and neglect would diminish just as surely as her own affections for Calderon, Bisceglie, and Bembo had.

They went to the feast where she sat beside Isabella who was visiting from Mantua. "Elisabetta sends her regards," Isabella stated tartly, looking annoyed at having to address her.

"Elisabetta is a dear friend. I've heard you've been working on arranging a marriage for young Eleonora." Eleonora was Isabella and Francesco's eldest daughter, fourteen at the moment and Francesco was trying to get her betrothed to the Pope's nephew, Francesco Maria della Rovere.

"We've been in discussions with Pope Julius, but no official agreement has been reached. We are expecting within the next year or two to unite our two houses though." Isabella's voice rang with her superiority as she spoke, eyes as cold as winter when they settled on her. Lucrezia couldn't figure out if Isabella hated her for her fabulous court and accomplishments which equaled her own or her affair with her husband.

"You must feel lucky to have the favor of the current Pope."

"As lucky as you once were for your Borgia Pope."

"I was lucky to have a father who cared for me."

"And who so cunningly got you married to the Duke before his passing. I wonder how you'd have fared had you not married Alfonso at that time."

"I am sure my person would have been welcomed in many courts. Sancia would have taken me in."

"After what Valentino and the Pope did to Naples?" She laughed, "I cannot imagine. You must be desolate without your brother and father."

"Alexander has been graciously taken into the arms of our Savior. I feel no sorrow at his leaving of this world."

"Does not the news of Valentino's faze you though? You were always championing his cause by sending letter after letter to the monarchs and dukes of every continent."

"You speak as if Alexander's death and Cesare's injury should perturb me the same way."

Isabella stared at her for a long moment, goblet stem turning between her white hands as she thought. "What injury?"

"His leg wound of course what else?"

"I was not aware he'd been wounded in the leg? Who told you this?"

"Cardinal Ippolito."

"Lucrezia," Isabella's lack of formality unnerved her. She didn't say her name with friendliness, which was the way she was use to hearing it, but there was something disconcerting in her eyes. "Valentino has suffered more than a paltry leg wound. I was told he'd been stabbed in the gut and his shoulder wounded too."

She was silent, staring not at Isabella but Ippolito. The cardinal was laughing at some joke a courier was telling.

"You lie!" She declared, pressing her hands to her lap to try and still the tremble she felt coming. The image Isabella painted with her malice aimed words was one she couldn't bear to entertain. A leg would was enough of a blow to her, worse could not be so.

"You may learn the same from others. I do not care if you believe me."

Lucrezia rose and exited, asking her servant Tullio to accompany her. Once in private she instructed him to depart for Navarre immediately and get the truth from Cesare himself. She waited painfully the next couple days, dismissing her duties and ignoring Angela's sad looks when she caught her spacing out.

* * *

><p>She was humming as she worked on a small switch, hands working expertly as she bent her head. She raised her head as Ippolito entered, "Can you send your women and servants away, Duchess?"<p>

"Why?"

"I've a man here who wishes to speak to you in private."

"A messenger from Cesare here to dispel these unsavory falsehoods cropping up from Rome and Naples?"

"No. To confirm them." She pursed her lips and waited as the man came shuffling in. He was tanned with dark hair and eyes, a true Spaniard from the looks of him.

"Your name?"

"Juan Grasica," he said softly, his cap pressed tightly into his hands. She remembered him as a faithful squire to Cesare many years ago.

"Inform the Duchess of everything you spoke to me of. Here is the letter I received from Alfonso concerning the events this man will tell you. I'm sorry to have deceived you, but I thought it best to wait for Alfonso's return so he could comfort you."

"Alfonso did not comfort me during Alexander's mourning I doubt he will offer much. Sit, Juan, and tell me they lie."

"King Jean wished to strengthen Navarre's defenses and so he asked Count Beaumont to return the fortress of Viana. He refused and having such a great commander as the Duke of Valentinois at hand he set him up as Captain-General and had him depart immediately."

"Duke of Romagna," she corrected softly, eyes distant as she regarded him.

Grasica looked down at his feet. "I was beside him as we rode out of Pamplona…it was like the old days." His eyes became wistful as he recalled Cesare's great height. "Men cheered us off and women wept… a boy followed us out, clinging to Cesare's stirrups and wishing him luck. I think his name was Girolamo."

"Yes."

"They had planned to starve the castle into surrender. The food stores were nearly out and no reinforcements or supplies could get in. Everything was bright the days leading up to it. Cesare was joyous, telling me he'd received a letter from Niccolò Machiavelli about Michelotto's survival and his desire to find gainful employment with Cesare once more."

"Continue."

"Rain came and made a terrible mess. Sentinels implored the Duke and sensing no danger because of the God awful weather he gave them the night off. Course Beaumont took that moment to strike, sending men through the downpour to get supplies. The camp awoke in a hurry because the Duke's reinforcements advanced unsuspectingly on the party trying to sneak back in and raised the alarm. Cesare rode out with light armor on, cursing in his accustomed way as he does in his rages and took off on the nearest horse. Wasn't even his I think. We, poor stupid fools that we were, didn't get armored and equipped fast enough, thinking he was only waiting a little ways ahead. His groom said his horse took a tumble due to the damp terrain, but impatient to be done with the Navarre squabble so he could move onto grander feats, he didn't even bother to stop."

"Go on."

"He rode into the ambush alone and when we saw his horse come galloping into camp…some men burst into tears right then and there and rode off wildly after the Beaumont troops." He looked away, fiddling with his black velveteen beret.

"Please," her insistence and calm melted his uncertainty and he ploughed on. "They stripped him clean, took his armor, weapons, and clothes. Left him the way he came into this world."

"There was nothing on him?"

"No."

"I see."

"He looked strange there, lying so motionless, it was very unlike him to be idle. There was blood all over him and grass stained his knees. King Jean came and seeing him lying so robbed of everything that had been his, tore the cloak off his very shoulders and with wet cheeks he covered the poor Duke. He said a prayer as some of the men gathered, myself included and he praised Cesare's cunning and great manner of being before his body was carried off."

"That was kind of him."

"Jean thought very well of him. I saw his interment in Santa Maria."

"Santa Maria?" The name reminded her of the long nights in his arms in her palace and the days spent pining for him as he was planning his future.

"Yes. He was very dashing when he was carried out to Santa Maria. He looked as if he was sleeping, save the lifelessness, the lack of color, and the perfectly brushed hair. They trimmed his beard and put his rings and Order of St. Michael given to him by Louis on. He even had a coronet thanks to Jean. He truly looked the prince he was meant to be."

"What about his face?"

"He was the handsomest and most serene figure I'd ever seen. He may not have been smiling, but I could imagine it because he was always smiling for some reason or other. The church was full of weeping men, his troops adored him and King and Queen sobbed openly. Servants like me stayed towards the back, but we were numerous too. A man named Jaime told me how he'd traveled with Valentino after the ceremony and that the man had actually visited a brothel with him and spoken to him in a way altogether remarkable for a man of his illustrious rank. Cesare was always good to everyone who counted them his friends, only people who needed to fear him were foes. He had twenty something wounds, I couldn't count them all. Must have put up a fight for sure, warmed the hearts of all the soldiers to know he went down bravely."

"What of his eyes?" His beautiful eyes had always followed her in life.

"Closed like ceremony dictates."

"No, when you found him?" He hesitated, looking now at his cap again, looking for all the world like he couldn't bring himself to say. "Where they staring at the sky?"

"They were open."

"He told me once the sky reminded him of the powder blue dresses Vannozza would don me in when we were young."

"Jean had an elaborate tomb constructed for him and inscribed on that tomb was, 'Here in a little earth, lies one whom all did fear; one whose hands dispensed both peace and war. Oh, you that go in search of things deserving praise, if you would praise the worthiest, then let your journey end here, nor trouble to go farther."

"That is fitting." She smiled weakly, "I'll arrange lodgings and give you money. I would like to talk of the past with you. Few people in Ferrara knew him and those who did either disdained him or hardly knew him. I'd like someone to converse with."

"Of course, Duchess, I'd be honored."

Lucrezia read the letter from Alfonso and after a while lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling. The shock didn't completely wear off until night settled in. The servants didn't get a wink of sleep as the sound of their Duchess wailing Cesare's name over and over again and incomprehensible Valencian filled the usual silence that night.


	26. Chapter 26

Last chapter. Sorry for the long wait. I've been pretty business. Anyway I hope everyone enjoyed this story. I'm also really happy that this story has as many reviews as chapters :) I knew we could do it! Thank you and R&R.

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><p>Ippolito, having been informed of Lucrezia's condition, approached her apartments with great trepidation. Alfonso, standing to his left, had arrived back scarcely an hour ago from his travels. He had bathed and dressed, looking for once appropriate to his rank in his regal state.<p>

"Is she as bad as Angela said?"

"I would say worse, but you'll see for yourself. Take care when you speak, brother, her equilibrium at the moment swings as freely as a pendulum."

"I'll wage her mourning will be short lived this time. She may have been saddened at the former Pope's passing, but from all appearances Cesare wasn't her favorite brother."

"You'll be surprised at her state with such preconceived opinion."

"Are you saying my assumptions are wrong?"

"I thought as you did about their relationship, but upon seeing her devastation…it became entirely clear her devotion to her brother was genuine and not contrived by false feelings. Her support of him since his imprisonment and her mourning now are not for her own sake."

"I see." Alfonso pushed open the door without further words. Ippolito followed him reluctantly into the dimly lit chamber. "Why are all the windows shuttered?"

"Lucrezia tried to leap out one."

"Surely not!" Alfonso stopped walking and whirled around to face him. Ippolito looked away, unable to meet the disbelief in his brother's eyes. Her husband marching over to her canopied bed and pushing the lacy fabric aside.

Lucrezia lay like a person dead to the world. Her dress, black from head to toe, bore no opulence. Her beautiful face bore the blunt of her sorrow; red marks covered her cheeks where she had scratched at her face in delirium.

"What has she done to herself!"

"She fought with one of the maids and ended up gouging her flesh with her nails."

"Why? What madness possessed her?" His disheartened look reminded Ippolito of his own sorrow at losing Angela. He glanced anywhere but at the man's face.

"I would surmise the same affliction which caused her to tear out chucks of her hair."

"Is she lost to reason?" He demanded as he sat on the bed and took his unresisting wife into his arms.

"I cannot say. There are times where she seems compos mentis…other times deranged."

"Lucrezia?" Alfonso stroked her cheek, but she lay as if she didn't feel anything. Ippolito looked uneasily at his feet and the wreck of a room. He watched as his brother kissed her repeatedly, whispered soft words, and then rose. They stood awkwardly by the fire for several minutes. The cardinal toyed with a jeweled ring as the Duke of Ferrara stared blankly into the fire. Ippolito's refined robes and Alfonso's black and gold doublet stood out as an odd contract against the ravished room.

"I thought if anyone could bring her back it was going to be you, Alfonso."

"Perhaps if I were the Duke of Bisceglie I might be able to. I am merely the imitation…her replacement husband."

"Hasn't Lucrezia showered you in love?"

"She gives affection as freely as an infant to any who holds her, Ippolito, but explain to me why would she seek lovers outside our marriage if she truly loved me?"

"For the same reason you go to brothels?"

"No. Wives aren't as lusting as husbands. They seek lovers when love doesn't blossom in marriage."

"I can't believe she feels nothing for you."

"If she feels anything…it is gratitude for keeping her when I didn't have to."

"I wager she feels much more than mere gratitude."

They both started at the murmur behind them; a soft barely audible whimper akin to a kitten meowing for the first time. One man felt despair; the other hope. Alfonso leaped onto the bed, sending a silken pillow flying off the edge where it had previously perched as if a bird in flight.

Alfonso took her limp hand, kissing the knuckles and wrist tenderly. Lucrezia's blonde hair was ruffled and sticking up at odd angles as she sat up. Her dress was torn in several places, her well maintained nails broken, her face bearing none of her color or warmth of person. She gazed at her husband with a noncommittal expression, her countenance that of someone trying desperately to remember a vague acquaintance.

"Alfonso?"

"Lucrezia?"

"How long has it been?"

"Far too long, my love."

"You use to always call me honey pie or sugar plum, do you remember? I always thought the names so stupid." Silence descended as the two men exchanged nervous glances. Alfonso had never called her nonsense names before.

"Which Alfonso do you see?"

"Alfonso," her smile was faint. "You always bring me joy. Whenever I played the flute you would stroke my vanity with praise. Cesare plays better than I. Oh, don't make that face for I promise not to bring him up again. I bet you ten ducats Louise is a beauty. Cesare was a cute boy. Did I ever tell you that?"

"No."

"He and Juan use to climb the highest tree they could find. Always challenging each other those two."

"I'm sure they did."

"You sound bitter. Don't be, darling, Cesare always soars above everyone." Her look was wistful.

"I'm not bitter."

"Giovanni…I shouldn't talk about Giovanni. You hate when I mention Cesare…"

"I don't mind talking about Giovanni."

"You're a terrible liar. Little Giovanni," her maternal smile made her face glow. "I named him after Juan. I know what you think, husband, that Cesare was responsible, but if you'd known him better you'd know he'd never kill Juan."

"Lucrezia."

"Cesare never envied Juan," her eyes numbed him with fear. He dropped her hand and looked away from her reminisce face. "Don't envy Cesare, Alfonso, this…isn't worth envying."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"What harm is there in telling the dead?" She remembered the events leading to the previous Alfonso's death it seemed, but not her life in Ferrara.

"I'm not―."

"You had a smile on your lips. You trusted me so much. I felt your love every time you smiled, felt it like a sharp reminder of what I didn't feel. Don't smile now, darling, I hate it. Tell me what I already know."

"And what do you know?"

"I'm in Hell and for some strange reason God has sent you to punish me for your murder."

"This isn't Hell."

She stared listlessly at the wall, her face scrunched up as she recalled old memories. Her face bore recognition when she gazed upon him once more. "Alfonso?"

"You've been very stressed lately," he held her, aware of how frail she was.

"What's wrong with me, Alfonso? I'm scared."

"Nothing, love, don't be afraid."

"I fear I tether on the brink of madness!"

"Nothing so severe," he mumbled, clutching her head and smoothing her dress with the other. Or so he hoped, Ippolito thought, wondering if madness was only a step away.

"God, Alfonso, is it true?"

"What?"

"Cesare?" The frightened wide eyes she bestowed on her husband tore at his heart brutally.

"Yes." Lucrezia was still a moment, eyes reverting back to normal, face regaining color, hands loosening their tight grip on Alfonso's doublet. Then she collapsed against him, screaming in that Valencian and sobbing violently.

* * *

><p>Ercole Strozzi recited each word of his elegy in the hope that this would be the Duchess' final farewell to her life in Rome. He addressed the Duchess directly at the beginning, remarking that her and Charlotte's grief was as deep as that of Cassandra and Polyxena for Achilles. He then recanted Cesare's exploits, comparing them to his namesake Julius Caesar, and counted off the numerous cities he'd acquired before his star fell. He added envious fate had denied him the acquisition of more cities, but if she had been kinder it would have been Cesare to conquer Bologna, not Pope Julius. He ventured on a tandem about Calixtus next, added a soft sprinkling of Eratus, nodded to Pallas and Venus as friends of Cesare and Spain and the other Italy respectively, and to get to the point of the poet had Pallas and Venus complain to Jupiter about Italy lacking a king. Jupiter, he informed the listening audience, assured the two that Cesare, like Achilles, had to die, but from the two lines of Este and Borgia, akin to Troy and Greece, would arise the promised savior. Then he continued with a dream Cesare had while in Nepi after his father's death of Pallas visiting him like heroes of old and informing him he had to suffer his end bravely. Then Pallas traveled to Ferrara and he ended on a high note, assuring Lucrezia, that though her brother was gone, her yet-unborn child would be the savior of Italy.<p>

There was much appreciation given to Ercole's verse and Lucrezia graced him with kind words as well. Afterwards she sat with Angela, reading a letter from Isabella of Aragon, "She says Rodrigo is progressing well and has high hopes for his future."

"That is good news."

"Yes."

"You need that. Lucrezia?"

"Yes?"

"I really wish you would put your grief aside." Angela, ever dotting on her since Cesare's passing, had been an added incentive not to end her life besides that of her precious children. She smiled gratefully, appreciative of her cousin's concern.

"Grief I find is not easy to shake off, but time heals the wounds until the pain is scantly noticeable."

"Do your wounds still fester, dear cousin?"

"They all ache a little, some days more than others. I still recall a happy moment or two with Juan or Papa and occasionally great outrage overcomes me or sorrow, but they are far and few between. I imagine Cesare's will soon be thus."

She still had a hard time saying his name and she still couldn't say he was dead. She didn't know how to confess to Angela that the wound Cesare left was never going to be filled; no lover, no husband, no friend, no one could take away the pain of the passing of her brother and soul-mate. Angela didn't deserve to know the truth, not that Lucrezia felt her unworthy of the knowledge, but the fact that such knowledge would render all her sweet consolation meaningless in the only way it mattered. Yes, Angela's presence and affection was touching to Lucrezia, but the woman could never truly understand to what depths her love for Cesare amounted to. Angela would only feel at best useless and at worst indignation that she wasn't good enough to heal her wounds.

The wounds Alfonso felt at the riddled admission she'd given to him of her true affection had marred their relationship since. He was still in love with her, still adored her, and treated her well, but a sort of tension hid just behind the surface of every intercourse. On April the fifth, Lucrezia, who had tried tirelessly to provide an heir and hopeful that the infant would bring Alfonso's much needed affection back, gave birth to Ercole II d'Este. Finding the heir to his liking, Lucrezia was pleased, though his affections towards her remained stagnant.

She clung to Francesco and he returned her affections with as much force. The worse their relationships with their spouses became the shorter the span between their trysts and the more fevered their countless letters and secret messages through servants became. They both were aware that love wasn't a part of their relationship; the sexual aspect was the pivotal point in their dealings with each other.

In August of 1509 she gave birth to Ippolito II d'Este, named by Alfonso in his brother's honor. In was late in the evening when a letter arrived from Isabella of Aragon, informing her that Rodrigo was dead. She cried for many days after, especially when faced with Ippolito or Ercole's little faces. She could barely remembered Rodrigo's bright face and that awareness would bring her to new tears.

Lucrezia was hit with another loss, though this one was not the worst of her life. Vannozza was gone. Her mother had lived a respectable life in Rome after Alexander's passing. She'd been wealthy, generous, and charitable to the end of her days. Lucrezia reread the letter detailing her passing with little grief. She'd never been close to Vannozza growing up and thus couldn't feel as much grief as she knew she should. She was only someone grateful this was one death which didn't hurt as much.

* * *

><p>She laughed, picking Alessandro up into her arms. He was five years old now, having been born in 1514. He had Alfonso's looks and smile. She ruffled his hair affectionately and set him back down beside pretty fair haired Leonora, his junior by a year, and little baby Francesco, who was scantly three. She often wondered about Francesco's parentage; Alfonso thankfully did not.<p>

She turned when Catalina came over, "The Marquis of Mantua is asking for you, Duchess."

"Can you watch the little ones?" She found Francesco loitering near the entrance to the garden. He walked in silence with her, hands covered by gloves and bare face as ravaged as she imagined Cesare's had been beneath his masks. Francesco, though enticed by her and occasionally Isabella, had never given up his whoring and the punishment for such dalliances was killing him.

"Lucrezia?"

"Francesco?" She waited patiently as he paced the room.

"We can't see each other anymore."

"Does Isabella know?"

"No."

"Because of the disease?"

"What else?" His frustration was paramount as he kicked a chair. "I'm told it causes anger and madness. Do you believe that?" He was staring at the chair he'd knocked down, fear expressed in his eyes if in his stoical face.

"I've been told that too, but Cesare was rarely angry."

"Is that so?" Francesco ran a hand through his hair. "I hate this."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, you didn't give it to me." A guilt-ridden, concerned part of her whispered that she might have gotten it from Cesare, even as the more rational side of her pointed out that symptoms would have occurred by now. "I've had it before I even knew you. Isabella won't even look at me now."

"I'm sure it isn't that bad."

"She hates me, utterly detests me."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"She said as much the day I found out about the pox. Her eyes said all the disgust and contempt her words didn't as she advised me not to bed her anymore."

"She doesn't find you disgusting or she wouldn't have married you."

"Don't give me flimsy platitudes, Crezia, or pity. Isabella has a right to detest me. I'm a hot headed, foolish philanderer."

"You are many things, Francesco Gonzaga, hot head, foolish, a philanderer, arrogant, vane―." He raised an annoyed eyebrow as she prattled on. "But all those vices don't make up who you really are, which is a relatively good man."

"Relatively being the word."

"Many people accused Cesare of being the devil and in many aspects they were correct in judging him so severely, but deep down he was kind, gentle, and good, if only to family and friends."

"Francesco hates me too."

"Why?"

"I gave him the pox." She winced and turned around the room in thought. Francesco II was his eldest son and at the age of nineteen still young and impressionable.

"Isabella no doubt putting such thoughts into his mind. He has always adored his mother."

"I'll never see him marry and Ferrante is only twelve. I'll die before he even reaches manhood." Ferrante was their younger son.

"Don't talk nonsense."

"It's true. Just wait and see. I think you are one of few people I'll miss, if you can miss people in death." She smiled weakly, kissing his cheek as he felt and reminding him he was free to call on her at any time before he disappeared down the hall.

* * *

><p>Lucrezia wiped tears from her eyes as she sat at her writing desk. Her hand kept wavering all over the vellum when she set the quill on it. She threw another piece of paper away and sat for some time trying not to think of Francesco. With her mind empty of fond memories she quickly scribbled, aware her feelings would overcome her if she didn't get this dispatch out soon enough.<p>

Illustrious Lady, Sister-in-law, and Most Honored Sister:

The great loss by death of your Excellency's husband, of blessed memory, has caused me such profound grief, that instead of being able to offer consolation I myself am in need of it. I sympathize with your Excellency in this loss, and I cannot tell you how grieved and depressed I am, but, as it has occurred and it has pleased our Lord so to do, we must acquiesce in his will. Therefore I beg and urge your Majesty to bear up under this misfortune as befits your position, and I know that you will do so. I will at present merely add that I commend myself and offer my services to you at all times.

Your Sister-in-law Lucrezia, Duchess of Ferrara, the last of March, 1519.

* * *

><p>"Mother?" Ercole, face scrunched up from crying, rocked back and forth on the stool beside her bed. Alessandro, Leonora, and Francesco crowded behind him, little angelic faces confused at the commotion. Ercole was the only one old enough to grasp, though perhaps not fully comprehend, the fact his mother was in immense pain.<p>

"Is Isabella going to live?" She asked Alfonso as she took little Ercole's hand. She's heard nothing of her newborn since she'd been sick with fever.

"I'm sorry, love."

"Not the first I've lost."

"Nor the last I fear."

"Silly husband. Come and kiss me Alfonso." He leaned over Ercole and pressed a firm kiss to her forehead, nose, and lips. Ippolito came into the room and crawled onto the bed, nestling into her arms. "My little son."

He sobbed against her shoulder and Ercole started crying once more too. Leonora, seeing her siblings in distress, began wailing.

"I'm taking the children out now, wife." Alfonso herded them all to the door, practically tearing Lucrezia's sheets as he forced Ippolito away. Alfonso hurried back into the room and took the vacated stool and her limp hand.

"Alfonso?"

"Save your strength, you are going to need it for your recovery."

"You always were as optimistic as Bisceglie."

"Is it because Francesco's gone?"

"What?"

"Is that why you're leaving me?"

"Don't be silly."

"Please…"

"I haven't been here for a long time."

"God…" His voice cracked and he lowered his head, pressing his lips to her knuckles. The old memories stirred of Cesare's confidant smile, soft kisses, and passionate touches. If he wasn't waiting in the afterlife she'd find him somewhere else.

"Alfonso, will you fetch me some quill and vellum? I want to write my last letter."

"Dictate it to me. Don't waste your energy."

"I've enough left for this. Can you make sure it gets sent?"

"You know I will."

"Don't cry. I've loved you too Alfonso."

Most Holy Father and Honored Master:

With all respect I kiss your Holiness's feet and commend myself in all humility to your holy mercy. Having suffered for more than two months, early on the morning of the 14th of the present, as it pleased God, I gave birth to a daughter, and hoped then to find relief from my sufferings, but I did not, and shall be compelled to pay my debt to nature. So great is the favor which our merciful Creator has shown me, that I approach the end of my life with pleasure, knowing that in a few hours, after receiving for the last time all the holy sacraments of the Church, I shall be released. Having arrived at this moment, I desire as a Christian, although I am a sinner, to ask your Holiness, in your mercy, to give me all possible spiritual consolation and your Holiness's blessing for my soul. Therefore I offer myself to you in all humility and commend my husband and my children, all of whom are your servants, to your Holiness's mercy. In Ferrara, June 22, 1519, at the fourteenth hour.

Your Holiness's humble servant,

Lucrezia d'Este.

He cried throughout her letter writing and only sobered up enough to hand the letter to the messenger. "Sit with me until I fall asleep."

"I'll stay until the end."

"Thank you. Do you think Cesare's in Hell?"

"I don't know."

"If he is he'd fight his way into Heaven to get me. I suppose I only have to be practice patience which isn't my strong suit."

"Oh, Lucrezia!" Those were the last words she heard before she slept.

Alfonso lifted his head on the morning of June the twenty-fourth to find Lucrezia gone from the world. He stood immediately, walked out of the room and pass the servants, friends, and relatives and into his own quarters. He was a mess when he sat down to write his nephew Federico Gonzaga.

Illustrious Sir and Honored Brother and Nephew:

It has just pleased our Lord to summon unto Himself the soul of the illustrious lady, the duchess, my dearest wife. I hasten to inform you of the fact as our mutual love leads me to believe that the happiness or unhappiness of one is likewise the happiness or unhappiness of the other. I cannot write this without tears, knowing myself to be deprived of such a dear and sweet companion. For such her exemplary conduct and the tender love which existed between us made her to me. On this sad occasion I would indeed seek consolation from your Excellency, but I know that you will participate in my grief, and I prefer to have someone mingle his tears with mine rather than endeavor to console me. I commend myself to your Majesty.

Ferrara, June 24, 1519, at the fifth hour of the night. Alfonso, Duke of Ferrara.


End file.
